


Mixed Nuts

by SmutLover



Series: Use Your Words 'Verse [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Ass-Kicking, Attempt at Humor, Cartoon Physics, Fluff, For Science!, Gen, Humor, I am so sorry about the physics, LSV, Sam the Shrink, Science Bros, Shorts, Social Networking, Team as Family, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9253160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutLover/pseuds/SmutLover
Summary: Shorts from the "Use Your Words" verse, because it's gonna take a while to write the next real installment and we need some fun before then.





	1. Remedial Social Skills

**Author's Note:**

> Phil shook his head. This is what you got when the two most socially inept scientists on the team tried to be helpful, without adult supervision. 
> 
>  
> 
> A short giggle for a cold day. And because Muppet doesn't feel good.

“Nice, published again.” Bruce said absently, flipping through his e-mail in the main lab. “Go, science bros.” 

“Which paper?” Tony asked, disinterested, tinkering with a soldering iron and tweezers. 

“The one on positron decay targeting.” 

Tony’s head came up slowly. “The one we put the third author on?” 

Bruce froze. “Oh, shit. Yeah, that one.” 

“You said it was too esoteric, no one would care.” Tony accused. 

“I didn’t think they would! Everyone should get credit!” Bruce protested. 

“You’ve been doing physics with the science bros and didn’t tell me?” Darcy asked Jane, flipping through a Popular Mechanics she’d found in a corner. 

“No.” Jane said thoughtfully. “At least, not on anything involving positron decay.” She raised her voice. “Hey! Who’s the third author? Have you been doing physics without me?” 

Both men stopped bickering and turned to Jane. “It was before you got here, darling. Told you to move in sooner.” Tony said condescendingly. 

“Who?” Jane demanded. 

“Clint.” Bruce admitted. 

“Barton?” Jane asked blankly. 

“Oh, right.” Darcy nodded. “Targeting. Makes sense.” 

“No, it really doesn’t.” Jane insisted. 

“Shit, we’re gonna have to tell him.” Tony sighed. 

“It was your idea.” Bruce reminded him. “Not it.” 

“Fuck.” 

-A-

Clint had cooked dinner, which was his usual gig. That night had been lasagna, which was a team favorite and took all four ovens in the kitchen to produce. He’d been assembling lasagnas most of the afternoon, and even with Phil’s occasional help, it had taken forever and while he didn’t mind cooking, he didn’t reach that zoned out mindset he got while shooting, so it was still a damn chore. He slouched in his chair after dinner, glad someone else was going to clean up and wondering if he could talk Phil into a back rub. Probably, if he bribed Phil with sex. Such a sacrifice. 

“We have news!” Tony said brightly, popping a champagne cork. 

Clint thought Bruce muttered “overselling it” but it was hard to read lips on Bruce because he mumbled. He waved off the champagne and took another slug of his beer, hoping Tony and Bruce hadn’t opened a wormhole or accidentally invented a new form of explosive. (That had NOT been fun. Phil was SUPER touchy about IEDs.) 

“We’ve been published!” Tony said as if that didn’t happen about once a month now. More if you counted the former Bus geeks. 

Nat had explained to him that publication was a live-or-die big deal in the sciences, but given the way the papers cranked out of the Tower and were hailed as groundbreaking, he had a hard time really getting it. So he always nodded and said congratulations and shook hands and went back to the range. With the champagne it must have been something big; usually Tony only broke it out when Stark Industries sank another oil company. 

“It was a paper on positron decay targeting.” Bruce said mildly, handing around glasses. 

That sounded vaguely familiar, Clint thought. Maybe. Who knew, he checked so much weird math on so many weird subjects. Betty had him figuring bacterial generations the other day. 

“Can it be weaponized?” Phil asked, getting right to the point. 

Tony and Bruce paused and seemed to think. “Maybe.” Bruce allowed. 

“Possibly.” Tony agreed. “Ten, twenty years in the future unless I decide I want to reenact Ghostbusters and get on it myself.” 

“So what’s the big deal?” Natasha asked apprehensively. 

“Oh!” Tony sort of fumbled as Bruce glared at him, and that? That was not good. Clint slowly sat up, bracing for mayhem. “We, uh, we have a new author!” Tony finished. 

All the geeklings started muttering between them, mostly trying to figure out who, since it wasn’t them. Skye insisted she wasn’t involved. 

Tony turned to Clint, held out a glass of champagne again. “Way to go, buddy. You did damn good work.” 

Everyone turned to stare at Clint. Which wasn’t as creepy as it used to be but still not great. “What?” 

“Congratulations!” Tony said desperately. 

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. Hoo boy, someone was in trouble. “You put Clint on this paper as an author?” 

“Well yeah!” Tony said brightly. 

“You did the bulk of the math on it,” Bruce said kindly to Clint, “and came up with some revolutionary methods. Seemed only right. It got published more for the math than because anyone cares about positrons.” 

Clint sat back in his chair and blinked at all of them. “What?” 

“Okay.” Phil said tiredly. “Science bros to our apartment for an explanation, everyone else, clean up and whatever else you already were going to do.” 

People filed out or moved to the kitchen to clean up. All the science support staff paused to pat Clint on the back and tell him congratulations. He felt really confused. “Come on.” Phil said, gently taking his hand. “Let’s go see what this is about.” 

As always Nat had his back. They went to question the geniuses. 

-A- 

“It was your idea, YOU tell him.” Tony was saying as they stepped in. 

“The only reason I’m not bashing your heads together is because Hulk probably isn’t involved and doesn’t deserve the annoyance.” Phil announced. 

Bruce and Tony both looked guilty, which did nothing for Phil’s peace of mind. “Explain. Now.” 

All of them dropped into chairs in the living room, science bros on one side, Team Delta on the other. 

Tony and Bruce glared at each other for a while. Then Bruce, with a sigh, gave up, and began to explain. “After the battle, when you found out that Phil was dead. We didn’t know your whole history, but we saw how you reacted, Clint. We could see it… it was bad.” 

Clint stared at his feet and Phil reached over to take his hand. Nat, on his other side, was already clutching his wrist. 

“We called you over here a couple times, and came up with dumbass reasons to go drop in on you in Brooklyn, but you looked worse every time we saw you, and we were worried.” Bruce said very gently. “We tried to come up with some reason to get you out of your apartment, spend time with us, DO something. We didn’t know what else to do.” 

Tony picked up the sad story. “I – we – thought you’d had all kinds of targeting math in the military, so we thought maybe you could come check our math.” 

Clint raised his head, looking at both of them as if they were insane. “Positron TARGETING. Did you guys even care about that project?” 

“Ah.” Tony looked at Bruce, at the ceiling, at the floor. “Well, it’s useful data to have, but, no. We kind of came up with the project to get you over here.” 

Phil shook his head. This is what you got when the two most socially inept scientists on the team tried to be helpful, without adult supervision. Apparently new ways to apply known math. And some new information on positrons no one cared about. 

“Turned out you didn’t know the math needed,” Tony admitted, “but hell, Clint, the way you shoot, you HAD to know that stuff. Whether you knew you knew it, or not.” 

“So you proceeded to teach me math.” Clint said blankly. 

“Well, we got you out of your apartment, and spent time with you and saw movies after, and made sure you ate and had some laughs. And, um, taught you math.” Bruce agreed awkwardly. 

“The whole thing was bullshit?” Clint asked. 

“NO.” Both men said immediately. 

“We were both really concerned about you.” Bruce said softly. 

“And that’s real math you learned, and real brilliance you’re showing with it. It’s been at least a year since we asked you for help for any other reason but because you’re good at it. You got yourself together, but there you were in the next borough, when we were beating our heads on math, so we’d call you. And you'd swing through and solve it, not even realizing how amazing your work was.” 

Clint gave Tony a piercing stare. “Really?” 

“Honest.” Tony said. “JARVIS?” 

There was a fake sigh from the ceiling and Phil pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I apologize for my part in the ruse, Hawkeye.” JARVIS said calmly. “At first because I thought their reasoning was sound and you could use some time with friends. Then because you were so brilliant at it, we could all use your help.” 

“You really can do approximations.” Clint said with a faint grin. 

“I can.” JARVIS confirmed. “However, your brain makes intuitive leaps that mine cannot. And so the requests for help were legitimate, particularly as time went on and you got exceptionally good at it.” 

Clint shook his head. “Y’all never thought to just crash my apartment with some beer and a pizza?” 

“Ah...” Bruce said carefully. 

Tony looked back at Bruce, then at Clint. “Not really?” He hesitated. "So, no hard feelings when totally random scientists from all over the world ask you for help with their math, right?" 

"What?" Clint said again. 

"I'll set up a separate e-mail account for math requests!" Tony said brightly, as he and Bruce exited the apartment at speed. 

"WHAT?" Clint repeated. 

-A-

Laying in bed later, Phil cuddled against him, Clint stared out the window and boggled. Math whiz. Who’d have ever thought he’d wind up with THAT reputation. Once he got over the shock, he was probably going to think this was hilarious. 

“You okay?” Phil asked softly. 

He had Phil with him again; after that it was all details. “Yeah, kind of soaking it in.” 

“I always knew you were brilliant. Now so does everyone else.” Phil said with a grin. 

Clint shook his head. “It’s going to take a while to-” 

Someone began beating on the door out in the main room of their apartment. 

“Doctor Foster would like to see Hawkeye if it is convenient.” JARVIS said apologetically. 

The door pounding continued. 

“I suspect JARVIS might be paraphrasing Jane a little bit.” Phil commented. 

Clint pulled on his jeans and a fresh tee shirt. “Go ahead and go to sleep, who knows how long this will be.” 

“Love you.” 

Clint let Jane keep hammering on the door while he bent and kissed Phil. “I love you too.” He got the bedroom door shut for Phil’s privacy, and then said “Okay, JARVIS, let her in.” 

Wild-eyed, hair on end, Jane burst in. “You.” 

“Me.” Clint agreed cautiously. He and Jane hadn’t ever gotten along too great, going back to their first meeting. 

“I’ve been looking for a math person, someone good at more than two dimensions, who thought outside the box. And here you are.” 

“Here I am.” Clint agreed. 

“I’m an idiot.” Jane said. 

“Once in a while. Like the rest of us.” 

“I need your help figuring out the swirls the bifrost leaves when it touches the ground. I think it’s a four- or five- dimensional graph smashed into two dimensions.” 

Clint thought about it, thought about Jane’s shitty social skills, and how fiercely she protected her own work. He’d never seen her ask for help before, ever. For anything. This was probably as close as he was going to get to an apology, and a big deal for her. “Sounds interesting.” he agreed, and followed her to her lab. 


	2. Now Hiring.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers only stole one, single employee from SHIELD, so what's Fury so angry about, anyway? Well, okay, besides Steve, Natasha, Melinda, Maria, and Phil. Oh, and Fitz and Simmons. And Skye. But geez. SO TOUCHY.

Fury burst into the conference room, then paced – ha - furiously while everyone who was hanging around the Tower that day decided if they wanted to deal with him. 

Natasha, sitting at the table, ignored him and continued to poke at her phone, mostly texting covert photos of Fury to Clint. Clint was sending them back, with hilarious captions. Phil and Steve would be in, when she judged the time was juuuuust right. Fury needed to be angrier first. 

With no notice, the door hissed open and Darcy leaned in. “Hey. Y’all want some coffee or something?” she asked. 

Natasha, after a lifetime of spying, sneaking, and playacting, found it surprisingly hard to keep a straight face. “Tea, please.” 

“Sure.” Darcy said with a southern accent that made it sound like ‘shore’. “What about you, Captain Low?” 

Fury glared. “Coffee.” 

Darcy flounced away with a swirl of out-of-control hair. Usually she kept it in a braid or a loose chignon, but at the moment it was flying in all directions; she must have teased it or something to get that much volume, tangle, and outrageousness. She was wearing ripped up jeans, a worn Iron Man tee shirt, and iridescent Birkenstocks, as well as the most ridiculous cat-eye glasses Natasha had ever seen. Complete with rhinestones. Remembering Darcy’s words, Natasha did a quick Google; Edward Low had, indeed, been a pirate. With a swoosh and a flip of wild hair, Darcy sauntered back in, put a mug of coffee on the table near where Fury was pacing (Natasha hoped Darcy hadn’t put soap in it, or worse) and brought another mug down to Natasha. She dropped into the chair next to her, put her bare feet on the table, and swigged from a glass bottle of orange Crush. 

Darcy noticed Natasha looking at her feet and wriggled her toes. “Nice, huh? It’s from the Avengers polish collection from China Glaze. It’s called Hulk Smash.” 

Later, Natasha was going to take Darcy out for clothes shopping and expensive food as a reward for this. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Fury glaring at the two of them. Well, when passed such an obvious ploy, it would be wrong to waste it. “I hadn’t realized those were out yet.” 

“Just got them. I know a guy who knows a guy. Well, no, TONY knows a guy who wants to suck up to Tony’s PA, so I got them early. I fucking love this job. Got a set for you, too. JARV wouldn’t let me into your apartment, said you’d flip at strange boxes – shoulda thought of that – so it’s in the common room with your name and a couple death threats on it, so the others leave it alone.” 

“Hopefully Tony won’t steal my Iron Man red.” Natasha said dryly, touched at the thoughtfulness. 

“Oh, I got him his own set. I know what he’s like.” 

Natasha let herself laugh. 

Darcy fist-bumped her. 

“WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG.” Fury demanded. 

Darcy turned like she’d just remembered he was there. “Dude, chill. It’s the Avengers. They only haul ass for alien invasions. Tony’s building something, Steve’s finishing some painting, and Pepper’s trying to close out a meeting. No idea where Phil is, but I texted him.” She shook her head dolefully, and turned back to Natasha. “Anyway. Let me know what you think of the Widow’s Bite. I think it looks badass in the extreme, but you’re the expert.” 

“I’ll do that.” Natasha said with a smile. She knew – and Darcy knew as well – that Tony, Steve, and Phil were all waiting in the other conference room for her to tag them and tell them to come in. She was actually enjoying this, so she’d let Fury pace some more. 

Tony strolled in, smelling of sulfur and smoke, covered in grunge, as always unable to follow orders or simple directions. His boots were smoking slightly, and his welding goggles were shoved up into the bird’s nest of his hair. “Hey, I’m not late! Cool. What’s going on, Nick? Here to have us save your ass? Or just wanna kick some kittens.” 

“I wanna see someone try to kick Steve’s cat.” Darcy said idly, inspecting her manicure. “I think that would be really amusing. For me. From a safe distance. Like, half a mile?” 

Kate Bishop paced in, looking like the young woman of wealth and privilege she was. Natasha made a mental note to find out where she’d gotten that suit, later. It was excellent. Kate was in purple, head to toe; linen suit, platform stiletto heels, and her hair was braided into a classy chignon. Looking at her, you’d never guess on bad nights when she couldn’t sleep she prowled the city beating up muggers and rapists. Their baby vigilante was growing up. 

Natasha sighed at herself. She’d really fallen in with a great group of nutballs. She might have to keep them. 

“Ms Potts is unable to make this meeting.” Kate announced in her starchiest upper class boarding school accent. “She sent me to take notes.” she sat without another word, placing her tablet on the table and crossing her legs, staring at all of them like they were beneath her. 

“Who the hell are you?” Fury demanded. 

Kate gave him what, oh dear, Kate had been practicing the Murder Eyebrow. Natasha let herself grin into her tea cup. 

“Want a drink?” Darcy asked Kate casually. 

“Yes, please. Bottled water if you would be so kind.” 

“Shore.” Darcy said again, rising. 

“I want a drink.” Tony whined. 

“Get it yourself.” Darcy said as she walked out. 

Natasha texted Steve and Phil. 

“When you’re all done playing, and have a moment-” Fury snarled, turning to the door. It opened, and Steve and Phil were on the other side. 

Natasha fought the urge to laugh again. Steve was in his painting clothes, ripped jeans and a tee covered in paint, barefoot. Even though she knew he’d been in the gym when Fury walked in the building. Sidekick, as usual, rode his shoulder, and meowed in greeting when she saw Natasha. 

Phil, as expected, was wearing an impeccable McQueen suit. He’d been having quite a lot of fun at the tailor’s since his pay raise. 

“Yes?” Phil asked politely, moving into the room. 

Steve brushed by and sat next to Natasha. Darcy followed a moment later, handed Ms Bishop (that was the persona she was playing) a bottle of water, and Tony what looked like a gin and tonic. That… could be a problem. 

“YOU ARE POACHING MY PEOPLE.” 

Ah yeah, that. 

Phil gave that little half-smile he did, the one that was utterly maddening to the people who knew him, because they KNEW it was a big old FUCK YOU. “Oh come on, Fury, it was just the one. One tech, you have more.” 

Fury’s head almost exploded with the power of his glare. “ONE? You took half my senior staff, my two best scientists, and now Klein has sadly turned in his notice and said he’s going into Search and Rescue. WITH YOU ASSHOLES. HE WAS MY BEST TECH.” 

Darcy got back up and wandered out of the room again, not acknowledging Fury or his rage in any way. 

“We needed a tech to run communications.” Phil said easily, sitting down at the head of the table. 

“A good one.” Tony said casually, taking a sip of his drink. He looked momentarily surprised, then took a bigger swallow. 

Potentially a big problem. 

“One with such integrity. Couldn’t let that go to waste.” Steve said easily, stealing Tony’s drink and taking a swig. He grinned slightly and handed it back. 

Hm. 

Darcy popped back in, ducking around Fury as if he were a file cabinet, handed Steve a soda, and sat a cup of coffee neatly at Phil’s left elbow. 

“Oh, thanks!” Steve said brightly to Darcy with a smile, like no one had ever given him a Coke before. 

Natasha wondered if THAT was going to be a problem. 

“Sorry, Nickeroonie.” Tony said with a wave of his highball. “A kid like that? Willing to get shot in the head, rather than launch Project Insight? That’s as brave as anything we’ve ever done around here. Maybe more. He deserves a big pay raise and a really nice office, good equipment. And we deserve someone whose ethics we can trust.” 

“He also deserves respect.” Steve added easily. “A lot of it.” 

“Which he’ll get here.” Phil finished smoothly. 

“STOP. POACHING. MY. PEOPLE.” Fury snarled, and stomped out the door. 

“I will, as always, make sure he leaves.” JARVIS said discreetly. 

“Please tell me there are more people you want to hire from SHIELD.” Tony begged Phil. 

“Sadly, no.” Phil replied, smiling. 

“There has to be someone else there who’d be useful around here, wouldn’t there?” Steve asked a little wistfully. They all chuckled. 

“We need friends there, if we’re going to get anything done. If we hire them all away, who will we ask for favors?” Phil reminded them all. 

Tony caught Natasha’s eye, and rolled his. “Relax, Mom.” He slid his drink across the table to her. 

She sipped it. It was Sprite with a lime wedge. She slid it back. “You were perfect.” She told Darcy. 

Darcy beamed. “Yeah? I pretended he was the dean of the poly sci department at Culver, and treated him like I’d always wanted to.” 

“We watched on security cam. I was proud. A little more subtle than I am, but just as obnoxious.” Tony told her. 

Darcy laughed. 

“We need to get you a new wardrobe.” Natasha mused. There were so many parts Darcy could play, roles she could assume, with the proper clothing. As great as she was at keeping the scientists in line, oh, the things they could teach her. People always underestimated small, pretty women with big boobs. It was begging to be taken advantage of. 

“I do?” Darcy asked. 

“Take my AmEx.” Tony said cheerfully. 

“And me, if you don’t mind,” Kate added. 

Laughing, they all went back to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tech they're fighting over is Cameron Klein (per the credits) from CA:TWS and Age of Ultron. The one who sat with Rumlow's gun to his head and still refused to launch the helicarriers. Because of course they'd hire him. (I'm betting Sharon told Melinda and Maria they needed him.)


	3. First Meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little bit to amuse myself on a crap day. 
> 
> And because Spider Man was always my favorite. 
> 
> And setup for if I ever get to that fifth or sixth installment in this 'verse.

Steve was dug into Sam’s living room, putting the final touches on what Sam had to say was a great painting of Darcy. Every time Sam made any noise, though, Steve either frowned or said ‘sh’ absently and Barnes had confirmed that yes, he really did get like that when finishing a project. So Sam cleared out. Which was how he found himself out on the Iron Man landing pad, sipping a really nice import beer of some kind that Tony had flung at him on his way through. He’d always liked heights, and while he was staying away from the edge without his wings on, and his eyesight wasn’t as good as Clint’s, the lights of the city coming on in the sunset looked damned fine. 

Life in Avengers Tower was weird, incessantly weird. But the benefits could not be beat. Incredible people, fabulous (FREE!) housing, good food. Good friends. He had to slip into his daddy’s vernacular and admit he felt blessed by the people he lived with. 

He sat down, crossed his legs under him, and took a deep breath. The everyday stresses melted away and yeah, life was pretty good. 

Then a red and blue -clad figure swung around the Chrysler Building, sort of surfed down the side of the Tower, and hopped down lightly next to him. 

Return to that ‘life is weird’ portion of living in the Tower. “Spider Man, right?” he asked, keeping it casual. Lots of augmented humans were understandably skittish. 

“Yeah. Uh. Hi.” 

“Pull up some floor, have a seat.” Sam said easily. He wondered what this was about. When the guy sat, he held out a hand. “Sam Wilson. Falcon.” Okay, having a super hero name still gave him a quiet thrill. He’d keep a lid on it but. Super hero name. 

“Nice to meet you, Mister Wilson.” they shook hands, and oh, damn, he sounded kind of young. 

They sat together for a while, watching the sun set and the lights begin to sparkle. 

“Word among the mutants is, you’re keeping an eye on them in the city, for Xavier.” 

Interesting. “Nah, I’m not their mommas. I’m just giving them an ear, if they need someone to talk to outside their own group. And giving out my phone number in case they ever need help.” Sam paused for the kid to absorb that. “You want the number?” 

“Uh. Yeah. Yes, that would be great.” 

He produced a phone from Sam wasn’t asking where. Sam gave the kid his number, and watched as it was entered under ‘Falcon’. 

“I’m not a mutant.” the kid volunteered. Sam must not have entirely covered the laugh, because his head tilted like he was grinning behind the mask. “Okay, yeah, I’m not one of Xavier’s mutants. I’m kind of… independent.” 

“That’s cool.” Sam said as easily as he could. “I’ve seen the reports, you’re out there helping people. That’s always good.” 

Spider Man’s shoulder’s relaxed a little. “You don’t believe the Daily Bugle, then.” 

“Nah, I saw what the Bugle writes about the Avengers.” 

Spider Man chuckled a little at that, and nodded. They looked out at the city some more.

And then, as so often was the case in the Tower, Tony Stark happened. 

The automatic doors zinged open behind them and Spider Man tensed. Sam laid a careful hand on his arm. “You’re safe here. I swear on it.” 

Spidey nodded once but remained tense. 

“Spider Man. Welcome to the Tower.” Tony said cheerfully, coming to a stop next to them. 

Sam and Spidey stood, and Spider Man automatically shook Tony’s hand. “Mister Stark.” he said cautiously. 

“You could have called us on that giant octopod guy, you know.” Tony said, rolling over both of them as Tony was known to do. He turned to Sam “he has your number now?” Sam nodded. Tony turned back to Spidey. “Next time you take on someone and think you need backup, give us a call.” 

“Uh. Thanks.” No commitment to actually call them, Sam noted. 

“And let me know if you want us to sue the Bugle.” Tony said. “I’m thinking of it anyway, Jameson really annoys the shit out of me.” 

“No, I’m good, thanks.” Spider Man said, cautiously moving toward the side of the landing platform. 

Oh, for crying out loud. “Tony, back off. Spidey, it’s okay, I’ll save you from his enthusiasm, I promise.” 

“What?” Tony demanded, but the kid relaxed and stopped edging away from them. “Fine.” Tony said with a huff. “One last thing. Is that outfit spandex?” 

“Yes?” 

Sam could tell the kid was having that ‘moved into another dimension’ feeling that so many of them got around Tony. 

“No pressure, but if you decide you want something bulletproof, or at least bullet resistant, let us know. We can scan you as-is, we never see your face, and I’ll whip something up. I’ve been working on specialized textiles for Black Widow and Hawkeye, you could help me out and test-drive some for me.” 

“Oh. Maybe. Let me think about it?” 

“Sure. I’ll leave you guys to it. Just, let me know, huh?” Tony handed Spidey a business card. “My personal number’s on the back, and the number to my PA, Jarvis. He always picks up, really resourceful guy, if you ever need help.” He shook Spider Man’s hand again and swarmed back into the Tower. 

“Wow.” Spidey said, staring at the card, clearly overwhelmed even through the mask. 

Since Tony had given out the number anyway, “I’d definitely put Jarvis in your phone. He’s awesome in an emergency and is really like another Avenger. We should make him one, officially.” 

“Okay, thanks. I, uh, have to go.” 

Sam did nothing to stop him because that way lay madness. “One last thing? If you need a job, apply here at Stark Industries for an internship. They’re paid, and the hours are flexible. Use me as reference, it’s an automatic hire.” He and Pepper had worked that out; the intent was to keep any of Xavier’s kids from starving, but stray superheros needed a break too. 

“Wow. I don’t know, but I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“No problem. Nice to meet you, Spider Man.” 

“You too, Falcon.” 

He leapt off the platform in a graceful swan dive, and then swung away. 

-A-

THREE MONTHS LATER: 

Sam was in his office, grinding out some homework for a class when Tony burst in. “Dude, you need to slow the hell down.” 

“Who is this Parker kid?” 

Sam had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m going to need a little more detail. You wanna sit, that pacing is making my eyes swim.” 

Tony kept pacing. “What do you mean you don’t know? He used you as a reference when we hired him as an intern two months ago.” 

That meant he was probably one of Xavier’s mutants, which Tony already knew. “So? What’s the problem?” 

“Problem? There’s no PROBLEM. He said he was studying chem at Empire State, so we shoved him in the chem lab. He’s since solved a couple major problems with different projects and is now getting his name on a patent. I’m trying to hire him full time and he’s giving me a song and dance about a busy life and some shit. Who IS he?” 

Sam was trying to think of which of Xavier’s kids was studying chemistry and no one was coming to mind, so who else- oh. “Huh.” Sam felt himself grinning. “I’ll be damned.” He wondered if the chemistry studies had anything to do with the whole climbing walls thing. 

“WHAT? WHO?” Tony demanded. 

“Sorry, man, can’t tell you. Privilege and all that. But yeah, get him on the payroll. You should totally do that.” 

Tony made a sound of growling rage and slammed back out. 

Sam let himself laugh and went back to his homework. 


	4. Throw Some Money At It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Wilson is back and would like to thank Tony. 
> 
> And Tony thought she was intimidating BEFORE.

It was fairly late on a Tuesday night, and Sam was reading on his couch. Steve was hunched over his easel with the full-spectrum lights on, still painting. It was a good thing the super serum fixed carpal tunnel. (Sam wondered why, if the light bulbs worked, Steve needed the windows in Sam’s apartment. But he kind of liked the two of them bashing in and out of each others’ spaces, so he didn’t ask.) JARVIS did the fake-throat-clearing he did that was so hilarious, and announced, “Sergeant Wilson, Mrs Wilson is on her way up in the elevator.” 

Shit, that was bad. Sam was on his feet before he knew it, grabbing for his phone. 

“All appears to be well, Sergeant. When she arrived I checked all emergency bandwidths for news of your family and there have been no accidents or illnesses. She declined to tell me what her visit was about.” 

‘Declined to tell’ yeah, Sam had seen his momma decline to tell people things before. He winced. “Thanks for trying, JARVIS. What’s her ETA.” 

“Seconds.” JARVIS informed him. 

There was some clattering, and Sam turned to see Steve hastily gathering up his brushes and capping paints. “I’ll take these to my apartment, clean them there, leave you two to chat.” 

“She probably isn’t here to yell at you.” Much. His momma was still kinda taking it personally about Sam going back into the fight, and was blaming Steve for it. The brawl they’d had in Manhattan – it wasn’t even that dangerous, and he’d gotten away without a scratch! - had resulted in Steve getting quite a dressing-down from Mrs Darlene Wilson. Steve, bless him, stood at parade rest, stared into the middle distance, and said “Yes, ma’am.” and nothing else. It was classic Army behavior when being yelled at by a superior officer. 

Sam was still trying to get his momma to chill on that, but he got the same squinty look she gave Steve, when he brought it up. 

“Uh huh.” Sam let Steve run and chuckled as he poured some iced tea and got out some cookies. They were store-bought, but good. She was gonna give him shit about them, but less than if he didn’t offer her cookies at all. She had Standards about hospitality, and woe to any of her children not measuring up. 

He listened to Steve exchanging desperate pleasantries with his momma out in the hall and put the drinks and snacks on his table and tried not to laugh. The door slid open as he approached and he gestured her inside. “Thanks for not scaring him too bad.” 

Momma shook her head. “That boy. I can’t believe how easily intimidated he is.” 

“He was raised by a single mom. He knows what they’re like.” 

That got him a chuckle and they sat down together. His momma took a good look around the place. “This is a nice apartment. Good to know you’re not living in squalor.” 

“I don’t think Tony Stark does squalor. I’m not sure he could if he tried.” Tony’s idea of a sub-standard apartment would be hilarious. Less than fifteen hundred square feet and a bad view of Central Park, probably. 

“Mmm. About him.” Momma took a cookie, nibbled. “Not bad for bakery, what, you don’t have time to make cookies in your cushy superhero job?” 

“No, I’m afraid if they find out I know how to bake around here, they’ll chain me to the stove in the common kitchen.” he was actually almost telling the truth on that one. That got another chuckle, so Sam started to relax about this being family-emergency related. However, “What about Tony Stark?” he asked cautiously. Tony was famous for interfering in people’s lives, and Sam had a lot of family to meddle with. 

“You know how we’ve been paying off Jimmy’s rehab fees, little by little.” 

Ah. Yeah, his nephew had developed a drinking problem. Between Sam and his mother, they’d caught it pretty early on and sent him to the best place they could find to straighten him out. It looked like it was working so far, but it hadn’t been cheap. Sam kicked in on the bill, himself. “Yeah. You guys need more help? I can find another hundred dollars a month, or so, for it.” 

Momma looked up at him, and her eyes were a little wet. “The bill’s paid off.” 

“Paid? It was still thousands- Oh.” 

She nodded. “Oh. It took quite a lot of badgering and some favors called in, but I finally found out it was paid off by Stark Industries. They have a program that covers addiction recovery for all employees’ family members.” She took a sip of her drink. “The way it was worded, you were the employee and they tried to make it seem like standard procedure.” 

Wow. That bill had still been up toward twenty thousand, the last he’d spoken to his sister about it. Of COURSE Tony was the kind of busy-body who would poke into his family background. And of course Tony was the kind of guy who would then toss money at anything money could fix. “Yeah. This actually sounds like him.” 

Momma nodded. “No one at the insurance company seemed surprised. Apparently it’s a pretty common thing, with Stark Industries.” 

Sam vividly remembered Tony’s description of sobering up in a cave in Afghanistan. “It would have been made a policy by Tony.” Probably the day after he stopped weapon manufacturing. Maybe the same day. 

“I need to talk to him.” 

“Yeah, I want to, too.” Sam agreed. “JARVIS? Is Tony free? Can he come down here, or we can go to him?” 

“One moment.” JARVIS replied. 

“Do you get used to that?” Momma asked. 

“He’s the most helpful person in the place.” 

“Person.” She repeated. 

“Oh yeah. Definitely a person.” 

“Created by Tony Stark.” Momma said thoughtfully. 

Yep, Momma was getting the big picture on Tony Stark. Dude was doomed now. 

“Sir is on his way and will arrive momentarily.” JARVIS reported. 

“Thanks, J.” 

“You’re very welcome, Sergeant Wilson.” 

Momma’s eyebrows went up, and she smiled a bit. “Probably the most polite person around here.” 

“For sure.” 

The door to Sam’s apartment wooshed open and Tony burst in. “Hey, Sam, what-” 

That’s as far as he got before Sam hugged him. 

“If you kiss me again we are having words.” Tony grumbled into Sam’s shoulder. 

That got a chuckle from his momma and Tony pokered up and extracted himself from Sam’s hug. 

“Mrs Wilson. I didn’t see you there, I’m sorry. It’s nice to see you.” He held out a hand to her, immediately charming in ratty jeans, work boots, and a tee shirt full of burn holes. 

Momma stepped up and hugged him. 

Tony froze, then patted her back carefully with one hand, and mouthed “HELP” at Sam. 

Sam made no effort at all to save him. “We just found out about you paying off the bill for Jimmy’s rehab. When she’s done hugging you, I’m hugging you again.” 

“What bill?” Tony tried. 

Momma took a step back, put her hands on her hips, and humphed at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, right, that bill.” Tony said weakly. 

She hugged him again, then let him go, pulling him by the hand and sitting him at Sam’s table. She pushed over the cookies and gave him Sam’s (untouched) drink. “Thank you, Mr Stark. You’ve helped out the entire family.” 

“Please, no, call me Tony. It was nothing. Glad to help.” 

Sam sat down and observed; Tony would make the BEST case study for psych, except for the part where the author would be repulsored into little bitty pieces. 

“It was much more than nothing.” Momma replied. “And very appreciated. By all of us.” 

Tony glanced at Sam, who nodded definitely. It had been a kind, generous, very Tony thing to do. And he’d made financial life easier for their entire family in one swoop. “Thanks, man.” 

Taking a swig of iced tea, Tony pushed a cookie around a plate with his finger, and squinted at both of them. “Look.” he finally said, softly. “There is a lot of crap in life that nothing can fix. You all know that as well as I do.” and Sam KNEW Tony had looked them all up and knew about Sam’s dad’s death. “When there are things that CAN be fixed, especially fixed so easily, by just writing a check… It has to be done.” he shrugged uncomfortably. “I sit on this pile of money, what’s the point of it, if you can’t use it to fix things?” 

That got him hugs from both sides. He made a great ‘ulk!’ noise that Sam would be laughing over for years. 

“First you saved Sammy, now you’ve helped save Jimmy. I won’t forget this.” Momma told him, and oh, dammit Ma. 

Tony frowned. “I don’t remember saving Sam.” 

Momma glared at him. “You didn’t TELL him?” 

“It’s awkward!” Sam explained. 

Momma sat back and glared, and Sam resigned himself to being awkward. “You know how after you shut down the weapons thing, you sold all kinds of body armor to the military at cost, instead?” 

“Yeah.” Tony pushed his cookie around. “Seemed the least I could do.” 

“Well, I got shot a couple times, wearing those vests. Most of the ones the military bought were shit; I’d have been in the hospital, at the least. But Para, we got the best, which was SI armor. And we all kept flying.” 

Tony stared at him for one shocked, grateful moment, dark eyes wide. “That’s… that’s good to hear.” 

Momma stood. “Well, I’m getting myself home, now. Had to come over and thank you in person.” She turned to Sam. “Bring him to Sunday dinner this week.” 

“Wait, what?” Tony said blankly. 

Sam had to grin. “Okay. We’ll bring dessert.” 

“You gonna buy it?” Momma sneered. 

“For you, I’ll bake.” Sam told her, giving her a kiss. 

“That’s more like it.” Momma agreed. She turned to Tony as she headed for the door. “Bring that beautiful woman you’re dating. The one who keeps getting grief for hiring everyone but white men. I want to shake her hand.” 

“But, uh.” Tony tried. 

Momma bent to where Tony still sat at the table, put an arm around his shoulders, and squeezed. “Thanks again. Welcome to the family.” 

She kissed Sam on the cheek and breezed out the door. 

“Wait, what?” Tony asked Sam. “I can’t go to Sunday dinner! I don’t know how to DO Sunday dinner!” 

Sam just laughed at him. Sunday was gonna be great. 


	5. #IronKitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye is tired of being called "Phil's baby hacker".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick and literally slept with a box of kleenex last night, so this is shorter than usual. But I needed a laugh, and why not share? 
> 
> A super-short, due to super snot.

The giggling started the instant Tony slammed into the conference room. They were trying to debrief, but Coulson gave up on that when Tony appeared. 

“WHO.” He demanded. 

More giggling. 

Phil really missed smoking. REALLY missed it. Especially the non-tobacco substances. 

“JARVIS says he has no idea who did it, and claims there was a camera glitch in the lab. JARVIS doesn’t HAVE glitches, so it had to be one of you assholes.” Tony pointed at Clint. “It is ON, motherfucker, you think you’re starting a prank war? You have NO IDEA who you’ve fucked with, you little shit-” 

“It wasn’t me!” Clint insisted. “I’d have put on pin stripes! Or arrows!” 

Skye stood slowly, and… oh no. “It was me.” She announced. “Be glad it was just the one Hello Kitty sticker on your ass.” 

Tony turned on her. “Not my ass. ON MY ARMOR. My armor’s ass!” 

“I told you to quit calling me ‘Phil’s baby hacker’. You didn’t. I told you I’d get even. You said ‘sure, go ahead, Phil’s baby hacker’. We are now even. IF YOU STOP CALLING ME PHIL’S BABY HACKER. If not, I’ve got the rest of the Sanrio characters to work through. Keroppi next, I think.” 

"TuxedoSam." Darcy contributed, not helping the situation at all. 

Falcon Sam hooted with laughter. 

Tony huffed for a few seconds, then dropped into a seat angrily. “I had NO IDEA what was going on until it hit TWITTER. JARVIS informed me in the middle of the battle that Iron Kitty is trending. INTERNATIONALLY. There are dozens of photos, I know that kid Parker who sells photos to the Bugle is involved. Iron Kitty. Everywhere. Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, shit, even the old farts on Facebook noticed. Someone did “Shoot To Thrill” with meows. My dignity will never recover.” He thunked his head on the table. “You assholes.” 

“The bonus you get this month is a line item in our payroll budget, earmarked for anyone who puts a dent in Tony’s ego.” Pepper told Skye. “Nice work.” 

Skye blinked at Pepper. “Oh. Cool. Can I use it to buy more stickers?” 

Pepper toasted her with a cup of coffee. “You can spend it on whatever you like.” 

“Oh, you want paint markers, not stickers. Let me help.” Clint told her. 

“Nail polish.” Darcy corrected. “Glitter nail polish.” 

“Fine. FINE! SKYE! All right?” Tony snapped at them all. 

“Better.” Skye told him, and sat back down. 

Everyone gave her a round of applause while Tony sulked. 


	6. The New Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony can't believe these idiots live with him and are still doing their own weapon modifications. BADLY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am into the Interminable Middle of the next major installment and trying to amuse myself. Middles are HARD.

The day after the, well, what had it been? Tony was calling it an attempted kidnapping, and he wasn’t wrong, but Clint was considering it Just A Mess and Phil had started calling it the Big Reveal even though they hadn’t learned that much. Anyway. The day after all the shooting and yelling and property damage, the usual crew got together in the kitchen, laid out a buncha newspapers on the table, and started breaking down and cleaning weapons while rehashing everything. Phil, Nat, and Clint made a tradition of it, and Maria and Melinda had always joined in when they were around. 

After a moment’s thought, and the Steve Rogers Voice of Responsibility in his head telling him to do it, Clint asked Nat, “Do you mind if I tag Barnes, and the others? He had some weaponry to clean too, and we’re all supposed to get along and shit.” 

Nat shrugged. “It’s fine, but I get to punch him if he pisses me off.” 

“Fair.” Maria agreed. 

Phil came through, kissed the top of Clint’s head, and made himself a cup of tea and got drinks for everyone else. 

“Want me to clean your Glock, Phil?” Clint asked absently. 

“No, it’s fine, I never fired it yesterday.” 

They all kind of looked at each other, then turned to stare at Phil. He looked half smug, and half embarrassed. “I used a machine gun I picked up. And a couple RPGs.” He gave up and grinned outright. “I love RPGs.”

Of course he did. Clint hoped there was video, he always loved watching that stuff. By ‘picked up’ Phil probably meant ‘removed from some Hydra asshole by force’. “Hey, I keep meaning to ask,” he said while texting Steve to invite Barnes to the gun oil and bitching party, “why don’t you carry your Smith and Wesson any more?” 

Phil put his tea aside slowly. “The S&W. That’s right. I’d forgotten about it.” He smiled slightly. “They gave me the Glock after they resurrected me and I assumed it was my usual. Thought there was something wrong with me when I didn’t have the usual muscle memory.” 

Maria and Nat paused their tear-downs to discuss the best way to fillet Nick Fury. “Don’t worry, Phil, we’ll get you a new one.” Maria assured him. 

Nat cleared her throat. “Actually, I have your old one. I can go get it now, or after we’re done cleaning here.” 

Phil blinked. “After is soon enough. How’d you wind up with it?” 

Nat moved her shoulders slightly, uncomfortable; from anyone else it would have been running from the room, screaming. “After, uh, everything, Clint couldn’t handle cleaning out your apartment. I gathered up stuff I thought he might want to have later. I’ll, uh, get the whole thing back to you ASAP. Haven’t really known how to tactfully approach it since you came back.” 

Clint stared at her. She was nearly as wrecked as he’d been, and done what he couldn’t. “Thanks, Nat.” 

She shrugged again, not looking up from her Brownings. 

“Yes, thank you, Natasha.” Phil repeated. 

“Y’all are so cute.” 

“Fuck you, Maria.” Nat muttered. 

Steve and Barnes made their entrance, and Nat immediately shut up. She was really leery around Barnes. Barnes knew it, sat down at the farthest part of the table away from her, and put an armload of weaponry on the table. 

“Dude, seriously?” Clint had to ask. Sure, he used a bow and arrows, but “TWO derringers?” 

Bucky made a noise in his throat, not agreeing or disagreeing. He put a pile of knives to the side, as well. 

Clint actually counted. “Four handguns?” 

Steve glared at him over the pieces of his Colt. 

“Right. Uh. Very badass of you.” Clint hunched over his stuff, shut his yap, and started breaking his two handguns down. He’d gone over his bow the night before and what arrows he’d gathered up, he’d go through in the next couple days by himself. Tony kept talking about doing X-ray or ultrasound on his arrows for him, but that seemed a little extreme. And he kind of enjoyed going through his arrows. 

“It was indoors, and I didn’t want to make a mess, so I left the machine guns and rifles in the apartment.” Barnes said innocently. “This was what’s usually on my weapon harness.” 

Everyone kind of looked at each other and Clint KNEW he wasn’t the only one trying to imagine what it would have looked like if he’d WANTED to make a mess. 

“Sure, thanks for the invite.” Sam told them all sarcastically, stalking in and dropping his machine guns and handgun on the table. 

“Hey, Sam!” Clint said brightly. “You wanna come to the kitchen and clean guns and bitch with everybody?” 

Sam gave him an unimpressed look, accepted a soda from Phil, and got to work. 

Phil sat down next to Clint, drank his tea. “We could probably use a weapons’ master of some kind around here.” 

“Sure.” Clint said absently, scrubbing at a random speck of gunk. “Because we’re all so trusting we’d let someone else handle our weapons. We can’t even agree on gun oil. And Tony would NEVER get offended.” Clint glanced at his modified SI short-barreled .45 and wondered if he could get Tony to fine-tune the Stark Industries fifty-cal he had in his closet. 

“...true.” Phil admitted. 

“The Tony factor looms large.” Sam agreed. “He sees himself as our, what, outfitter?” 

“Our Q.” Nat corrected him. 

Everyone stared, then started laughing. “Oh my god, you’re RIGHT.” Maria said, wheezing. “I may start calling him that.” 

“He’d probably love it.” Phil admitted. 

Thor came in, sat in the corner, and polished Mjolnir with a soft cloth. “I had not realized this was a tradition on Midgard.” He seemed pleased; they were probably doing something he was used to. 

“Well, anyone with half a brain goes over their weapons after a fight. But doing it as a group isn’t as common; we started doing it as Team Delta and it grew.” Phil explained. 

Thor nodded. “May I watch the re-assemblage? I am curious about how Midgardian weapons work.” 

“Sure.” Clint agreed. “You should have said something; we’d have done some kind of lesson before now. I can take you down to the range later, teach you to shoot if you want.” 

“I would enjoy that, thank you.” Thor said with a smile. 

Barnes, down the table in the corner, looked around a bit furtively and went back to his obscure little Russian derringer-thingie. Clint knew the look well; it was ‘how in hell did I wind up here cleaning my weapons while a Norse God asks questions?’ Poor guy. He had no idea what he was in for. 

Tony burst in. “Hey. Anyone need help with anything?” 

Clint would consider complaining about Tony being such a busy-body, but the guy WAS the best, and it WAS a kind offer. He thought again about bringing up the subject of the Stark Industries sniper rifle in his closet. Before he had a chance, Tony grabbed the SI .45 handgun sitting next to Clint that he hadn’t broken down yet. 

“Haven’t seen one of these in a while.” Tony commented, moving the slide around to make sure it was unloaded, then dry-firing it at the floor a couple times. “Didn’t know you carried one.” 

“It’s more of an outdoors for self defense while sniping sort of thing, than my daily.” Clint admitted. 

“Whatever works.” Tony said absently, frowning at the barrel, then stepping over to the table next to Clint and starting to pull it apart. “Did you put a new spring in here?” 

“Couple times.” Clint agreed. 

“It working or you want me to machine something?” 

Ooo. An offer. “Well, since you mention it-” 

“Wait.” Tony interrupted. He had the frame of the gun in his hands, began squinting at it closely. “What the… I know you guys customize a lot, but… Never seen this before.” he squinted some more, took the gun over to better light by the window. “What kind of sight is this?” 

Phil and Nat both turned and gave Clint ‘yeah ABOUT THAT’ glares. Maria started giggling. Melinda just shook her head. 

Everyone else, as usual, was confused. 

“I, uh, painted the regular iron sights, helps with visibility.” Clint said as casually as possible, trying to ignore Natasha. 

“Paint.” Tony repeated, horrified. 

“Yeah, it works.” Clint agreed. What? He grew up IN A CIRCUS. He learned to shoot, IN A CIRCUS. WHERE EVERYONE WAS PERPETUALLY BROKE. Why did no one ever GET that? 

“There’s like a thousand after-market sights in the world, and you live with ME, and you are PAINTING the iron sights on your handgun.” Tony repeated. He came back, put down the SI, and picked up Clint’s H&K. Clint tried not to wince, because that one was worse. Tony took it back to the window, squinting at the sights some more. “Seriously, what in hell IS this shit? It looks like enamel, maybe? Did you use auto touch-up paint?” 

Ha, funny, that stuff was expensive. 

“It’s nail polish.” Natasha told Tony. “The greatest goddamn marksman in the world paints his sights with nail polish. The one you’re holding now? The sights are painted with GLOW IN THE DARK nail polish. The stuff they sell for five bucks a bottle in drug stores at Halloween.” 

Everyone turned to look at Clint as if he were insane. “It helps with night shooting!” he told them. IT DID! 

“Oh my fucking god.” Tony muttered. 

Natasha gave Clint her best “I TOLD YOU THAT WAS STUPID.” look. Phil was chuckling into his tea. 

“Does that work?” Steve asked cautiously. 

“Yes.” Clint said definitely. 

“OH MY FUCKING GOD.” Tony repeated. He went back to the table and began reassembling the H&K, pulling parts out of Clint’s hands to do it. “Give me that.” He smacked at Clint’s hands. “No. You don’t get them back until they’re fixed. If you do it again after that… I don’t know what, but I’ll do something horrible. Paint your bow with glitter glue.” He turned to Natasha. “Please tell me you have more sense than this guy.” 

“Of course I do. And if you touch my guns I’ll break your arm.” Natasha said smoothly. 

“Fair.” Tony agreed. He held both of Clint’s handguns to his chest like puppies and glared around the table. “Is anyone else abusing their weaponry like this?” he demanded. “I mean it, speak up or I’ll kick your ass.” 

No one spoke. 

“Fine. I will be downstairs in my shop, fixing these. If anyone else needs anything tweaked on their weapons, come on down. I cannot believe this shit. You live with Tony fucking Stark, why in hell aren’t you asking me for help?” 

“Well...” Steve said cautiously. 

“What?” Tony demanded. 

“Geez, Tony, you already pay for all of us, make our body armor, everything else, this is something we can do for ourselves. Why would we bother you?” Steve finally asked. 

Yeah. That. Clint agreed silently. 

“Because I’m the Merchant of Death and the best person on the planet to keep your weapons in order, you idiots?” He held up Clint's .45. "Stark Industries manufactured a zillion of these. I designed the damn thing when I was fifteen. I could machine one from scratch in a couple hours, from memory." 

Wow, that was being blunt. 

“I, uh.” Clint cleared his throat cautiously. “I have an old SI .50 cal in my closet, do you think...” 

“Bring it.” Tony told him. “If I find any nail polish on it, I will repulsor you, I swear.” 

Probably reasonable. “Okay. I’ll, uh, go get that.” 

“Seriously!” Tony was still lecturing as Clint escaped. “You guys are always telling ME to ask for help. So what the hell is this shit?” 

Definitely gonna start calling him Q. 


	7. Darcy Lewis, Manager.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She manages EVERYONE. The rest of the support staff will always follow her lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short because I am still stuck in the Middle of the long form story and Middles Are Still Hard. Up to about 110K words now; y'all are gonna get a novel here soon.

They were all hunched over various breakfasts when Thor burst in, looking more wild-eyed and ruffled than Phil had ever seen him before. Ever. Steve and Tony both rose immediately, ready for a fight, and Bruce froze, watching with wide eyes, ready to hulk out or flee as needed. Phil put a hand on his own Smith and Wesson. Natasha, Barnes, and Clint all pulled knives. 

“WHO.” Thor demanded. 

“Owl. Who who.” Clint whispered. Natasha elbowed him from one side, Phil from the other. 

“Need a little more detail if we’re going to help you, buddy.” Tony said in as easy a tone as he could, slipping into Negotiating Mode. 

“Someone moved Mjollnir. Who was it?” Thor demanded in full Space Prince mode. 

Everyone glanced around the table at each other, eyebrows raised. People relaxed a little, but they were still on alert. 

“I didn’t think it was possible for anyone else to move your hammer.” Steve asked carefully. 

“NOR DID I.” Thor glared around the room at all of them, each in turn. 

With a heavy sigh, Kate lifted her hand. “Fine, fine, it was me. Everyone relax, I didn’t DO ANYTHING. I only moved her out of the way.” She looked at Thor. “You left her in the middle of the hall on your floor, dude. I stubbed my toe. It was undignified for both of us.” 

“HOW.” Thor dropped into a chair. 

Kate pointed at Darcy. “She told me. Following her directions.” 

“WHAT.” nearly everyone shouted at once. 

Darcy glared. “Look, Sparky, you leave her sitting around all over the place. Usually in the middle of the floor like last night. Or on top of something I need, like my sweatshirt or a book. All you do is explain to her what you want, say please, then move her to where you said. Put her down, say thanks. I’m sure if I tried to fight with her she’d kick my ass before anyone else could, but shit, Thor, she’s a magical being made of neutron stars. That deserves more respect than getting tripped over in the middle of the floor.” 

“All I did was move her from the middle of the hallway to the side along the wall.” Kate glared at Thor a bit. “AFTER I apologized to her for kicking her and falling on top of her.” 

Thor’s mouth was opening and closing like a gaffed trout. 

Steve and Tony sat back down again. “Cool.” Tony asked. “So she’d let me run tests on her in the lab, put her on a scale, if I ask nicely?” 

Kate snorted. 

“I seriously doubt it.” Darcy told him. “She humors us because we’re trying to help her out. She’s got no patience with anyone who has an agenda, even a harmless one.” 

“You… know her?” Steve repeated. 

“Well, yeah.” Darcy told him. “I mean, we don’t play poker or anything, but she and her Asgardian live on my floor with my best friend. She’s around.” 

“She’s quite nice.” Jemma put in. 

Thor turned to her. 

“You left her in my lab once.” Jemma said. 

“I haven’t moved her, but I spilled a soda on her once when you left her on the common floor.” Skye told Thor. “I apologized a lot and wiped her off. She thought I was amusing. Like a puppy is amusing. To an ancient neutron star, I probably am like a puppy.” 

“I asked her if I could take some readings once.” Fitz told them. “She fried my cell phone. I’ve left her alone since. Communicates quite clearly. She’s impressive.” 

“So the entire support staff has been interacting with Mjolnir?” Phil summarized, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Well yeah, she lives here too, right?” Darcy asked as if this was obvious. 

“Of course she does.” Phil agreed, reminding himself AGAIN to stop underestimating them because they were young. 

“I...” Thor gaped at them again. “I shall go apologize to Mew-Mew.” 

“Damn straight, and quit leaving her in the middle of the floor.” Kate told him. "It's rude." 


	8. Legal Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple mysterious lawyers have appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIDDLES ARE HARD, Y'ALL.

Sam went down to the Viaduct Cafe earlier than his usual one Wednesday, to meet Kitty and Bobby for lunch. They were some of Xavier’s students, but beyond that he didn’t know anything about them being mutants. He was curious about their abilities but of course didn’t ask; that was rude. He’d known THAT was rude before Clint told him so. He may be in new territory, but his momma didn’t raise an insensitive moron. Kitty was a teacher at New York Hebrew. She worked with special needs children, which Sam thought was a great fit. Bobby was hanging around New York for the summer before taking a final couple classes to get his CPA certification. They made him feel so damned old, but they were good people. It was a nice lunch. 

He saw them off, and kicked back with his phone and a cup of coffee. Beth, his waitress, was used to the drill now and kept him topped off and would stop by to chat occasionally. Sam wasn’t quite sure what message she’d been given, but she never seemed at all upset that he was taking up space in her area every Wednesday. Stark was probably sending down exorbitant tips or something else ridiculous. For all Sam knew Tony owned the place. He wasn’t going to ask. 

He’d always known money talked, but Tony Stark made it sing in four part harmony. 

He’d had an exceedingly rude text conversation with Steve, cleared a really tricky level in Candy Crush, and was arguing with Natasha about how he did NOT need to date more, when things got interesting. 

Two guys were at the hostess’ station. One was mid-level average, white, short and stocky, long dishwater blond hair, unremarkable. The other guy? Hm. Round red sunglasses, tall and lanky, white cane tapping, with a hand in the crook of the other guy’s elbow. Average Dude led Now Who Is He? across the restaurant toward him, cane held close to his chest. It was fascinating, because supposedly blind dude? Was moving a lot like Natasha and Sam himself did – like a trained fighter. 

It got even more fascinating when they sat down WITH HIM. 

“Sergeant Sam Wilson?” the blind guy asked. 

“Yes?” Sam replied. It just so happened that about half a block away, there was a camera on the side of the Tower that watched his every move. He and JARVIS were going to have fun with facial recognition later. 

“I’m Matt Murdock, this is my partner, Franklin Nelson.” 

Partner smiled and handed over a business card. Sam took a look. Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law. Uh huh. 

“Well, that’s cool and all,” also the strangest business solicitation Sam had ever seen, but hell, he’d only been hanging out with Pepper for a couple months, what did he know about lawyers and business over lunch? He was an Air Force Shrink. “but I’m not in the market for any lawyers.” 

Murdock smiled, ignoring his partner and the waitress as Beth delivered coffee for both men. He waited until she left, then said “Rumor has it you’re the point man between the Avengers and the mutants in the city.” 

“Rumor.” Sam repeated. 

“The more unique people in New York tend to keep in touch.” Nelson said politely, doctoring his coffee. 

“Gossip like a PTA meeting.” Murdock agreed. “Word’s out that for the little people, they can talk to you to get to the Avengers.” 

“Uh huh.” Sam said as neutrally as possible. 

“Well, we wanted to put our name out there.” Murdock told him, smiling. “In case any of the people you speak with need lawyers and don’t want to use Stark Industries’. Or would like to remain more anonymous than they would remain if they dealt with the Avengers publicly.” 

“We’ve got very flexible payment plans, when we aren’t doing pro-bono work.” Nelson added. 

“Just keep it in mind.” Murdock concluded. “One more contact, to keep on your list. How are you enjoying New York?” 

“I grew up here. It’s good to be back.” Sam allowed. 

“Oh, that’s nice.” Nelson said with what looked like a genuine smile. 

They chatted for the duration of their coffees, left a twenty, and took off, back the way they’d come. Sam REALLY wanted to know how a blind dude was moving like an assassin. 

-A-

“Yeah.” Tony said absently, hunched over his work bench, when Sam tapped on the door frame of his shop. 

Sam stepped inside. “Know anything about a law firm called Nelson and Murdock?” 

“It’s adorable, all the stuff you guys think I know. JARVIS?” 

“One moment.” JARVIS asked. “They seem to be a law firm based in Hell’s Kitchen. A great deal of charity work, small cases, for everyday citizens. In the last year or so there has been an upswing in their involvement in larger cases, such as homicide, city corruption, and property law action against known mobsters.” 

“Crusaders.” Sam summarized. 

“Judging by the case load available from public records, it appears so.” JARVIS agreed. “It appears they are picky in their clients, but they have a very high win rate.” 

“Crusaders.” Tony said sourly. “How do you know them?” 

Sam laid the business card on the work bench in front of Tony. “They came by the cafe to say hi this afternoon. Offering their services to the mutants I talk to, basically. They were more polite about it, but that’s what it comes down to.” 

“There is no reason to think they mean any more or less, from their litigation.” JARVIS pointed out. 

“Where’s the office?” Sam asked. 

“Hell’s Kitchen.” JARVIS told him. 

Tony, working at something, said absently, “I wonder if the new guy, whosit, Daredevil? Wonder if he uses their services.” 

Sam thought of how Murdock moved. “Maybe he IS them.” 

That got Tony’s attention. “Really?” 

“Murdock, the blind guy, partner? Moves like one of us.” 

“Interesting.” Tony said thoughtfully. “JARVIS, got enough for facial recognition?” 

“One moment.” They waited. “There are not enough data points; the mask used by the Daredevil covers the upper half of his face. Including his eyes. But his jawline is a direct match.” 

Both men laughed. 

“Scan the card, J.” Tony told him. There was a flash as he did. “We’ll keep an eye on them, use them if we need a good lawyer who isn’t from Stark Industries.” 

“A mutant lawyer.” Sam wondered. 

“Who knows.” Tony said with a wave. “A couple crusader lawyers who don’t discriminate. We’ll have a use for them sooner or later. Or one of the kids will.” 


	9. Birthday Boy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha bakes. 
> 
> There is no property damage. 
> 
> Sam is never gonna hear the end of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request for Aiglet, because I wanted a writing prompt. Sort of a writing exercise sort of thing.

Natasha stared at the file in front of her, then stared at the phone in her hand again. She had one of two options; make the call, or forget the entire idea and go find a victim to beat up in the gym. File. Phone. 

She’d never been much of a coward. She’d never had much of a chance. But with the Avengers all sorts of new things were apparently possible. 

Phone. 

File. 

She held her breath a long moment, closed her eyes, and hit ‘dial’. 

“Hello?” 

“Mrs Wilson. This is Natasha Romanov, I work with Sam? He’s fine, there’s no emergency, but I wondered if I could have a moment of your time.” 

\- 

Steve and Barnes had been doing some kind of workout; Phil could see that plainly in their sweat-soaked shirts and athletic shoes. He was sure they were in the common room for a snack of some kind. “The kitchen is closed, I’m sorry.” 

“Closed?” Barnes asked, half confused and half polite. 

“Mother Mary, did Tony try to rebuild the espresso maker again?” Steve demanded. It had been a memorable occasion. 

There was a burst of Russian from the kitchen and Phil, who spoke it fluently, winced with Barnes. Steve apparently was picking it up because he flinched too. 

“Natasha is baking.” Phil told them both. 

“You couldn’t put out a warning for that?” Barnes asked. Phil was fairly sure he was serious. 

“I’m standing guard.” Phil pointed out. 

Barnes shook his head, obviously thinking that wasn’t enough. 

The elevator opened and Clint stepped off, Lucky’s leash in one hand, large bag of groceries in the other. “Oh, hi, guys. You don’t want to go in there.” 

“Fuck you, Barton!” Natasha shouted from the kitchen. “Did you get my eggs?” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Clint called back. He handed Lucky off to Phil. “Duty calls.” He told them all. “Pray for me.” He added under his breath. 

“I didn’t know Natasha… cooked.” Steve said, patting Lucky. 

“I do anything I want!” Natasha shouted. “Fuck you, Rogers!” 

“We… ah… we’re going out for lunch.” Barnes told Phil. “Can we bring you anything?” 

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” Phil told them both, nodding toward the three fingers of whiskey sitting on the table next to him. 

“All right then.” Steve said brightly. He and Barnes nearly rain for the stairs. 

\- 

Sam was in his apartment, watching basketball while Steve painted, when there was a knock. “Let ‘em in, JARVIS.” He called. 

Clint ducked in the door. “Hey, Sam.” 

“Hey. Want a beer? I’m watching last night’s game.” 

“No, I’m good, just wanted to swing by and, uh, give you a warning.” 

Steve froze over his canvas. 

“Okay?” Sam asked. Who even knew, when it came to Avengers’ Tower. 

“Yeah, dinner tonight. Um, there’s a surprise, but it’s all good, right?” 

“Right?” Sam tried. 

Clint nodded, gave a thumbs up. “Roll with it, you’ll be fine.” He ducked out and the door slid shut behind him. 

Sam stared at the door for a long moment. Then he turned to Steve. “Was that weird? That was weird, right?” 

“I don’t even know any more.” Steve confessed. “I was born in nineteen eighteen. You’re asking the wrong guy.” 

“So dinner will be interesting. You have my back?” 

“Of course.” Steve agreed. 

-

Dinner rolled around, and Sam felt, well, he’d admit it. He was worried. Clint kept giving him ‘okay’ signs through the meal, and he kept waiting for hell to break loose. 

After, he finally realized what was going on. A cake was put down in front of him, candles were lit, and everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to him. 

Oh. Well. That was nice of everyone. 

He blew them out, and there was applause, and- “Did my momma make this cake?” It sure looked like hers. 

“Angelfood with lemon curd. It’s your favorite. I called her and asked, got the recipe.” Natasha told him, cutting large slices out for everyone. When the first cake was sliced and handed out, a second appeared. Bowls of lemon curd were put out on the table and passed around. 

“Wow. Who made it?” Sam asked without thinking, drizzling lemon curd over his cake. 

“I did.” Nat said, and sat down across from him. 

Sam tried not to freeze or stare. “I didn’t know you baked.” 

“I don’t, much.” Nat agreed. 

Sam stared down at his cake, wondering how bad it would be. It looked okay. 

Clint caught his eye, grinned, and gave an emphatic nod. 

Well, nothing for it. Sam took a bite. It was… perfect. “Exactly like my mommas. Thanks. This is great.” 

“You’re welcome. I thought you deserved something nice, since you’re one of about five men I ever worked with who I could actually WORK with.” Nat sampled her own cake, nodded with satisfaction. “You might want to tell your mother I’m not madly in love with you, though. I mean, I told her, but I don’t think she believed me.” 

Oh damn, his momma WOULD think this was an act of romance. “I’ll do my best.” It would get nowhere. His mother would be demanding Natasha's presence for Sunday dinner until Sam married someone else. If he ever did. 

He shut up and enjoyed his cake. 


	10. Marriage Counseling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They should really goddamn have PTSD, DAMN IT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sam fic for all of youse who love him. With some bonus sort-of Clint/Phil. 
> 
>  
> 
> Still working on End of Ultron. MIDDLES ARE HARD. -whine-

Sam paced the elevator, running through everything he’d read about coma, near-death experience, and serious illness. Phil was in the pub, which was something he’d never expected. But Phil was asking for help, and Sam was the guy in charge of giving it, and no one (to his knowledge) had ever before been resurrected with alien technology so he was JUST A BIT UNDER-QUALIFIED for anything Phil wanted help with. Knowing that no one else on the planet was qualified, either, did not comfort him the tiniest little bit. 

When he’d suggested to Xavier that he take point on these situations, Xavier had almost, but not quite, giggled at him. Something about military and more in common and something something compassion, but how in HELL had he wound up in charge of this? HE DID PTSD GROUP COUNSELING FOR IRAQ WAR VETS NOT WHATEVERTHEHELL FOR SECRET AGENTS RAISED FROM THE DEAD WITH SPACE ALIEN GUTS. 

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and paced some more. Pacing in elevators was tricky, but he’d been watching Tony and he was getting the hang of it. 

Sam had NOT known what he was getting into when he handed Steve that file and quipped “consider it a resume”, no he had not. Why couldn’t he just fly around, being badass, and shoot at stuff? He was absolutely sure in his skills there, and if he fucked up, he only had himself to blame after. It was something he understood, flight and strategy. Not uncharted territory where even the shrinks with multiple PhDs were throwing up their hands and saying ‘fuck if I know’. (Figuratively. Charles was a classy guy.) 

He paced some more. Shit. Resurrections. Clint had made a few comments in passing that Phil had a hard time with it, UNDERSTANDABLY, and was concerned about odd effects of the resurrection methods. In addition to being tortured by his “best friend” (goddamn Fury) and losing the love of his life for three years. Phil had never spoken to him in a professional capacity before. Calming talks after anxiety attacks didn’t count, in Sam’s opinion. That was putting a band-aid on it, it wasn’t fixing the problem. As with the rest of the knuckleheads in the Tower (except Pepper who had her act together), he had no history to work from, unless that was what Phil was there to talk about. He could only hope. 

Phil was pacing and frowning. So that probably let out the mellow background discussion option and left a real problem to deal with. SHIT. 

“Hey.” Sam said easily, walking in. Be chill, keep it chill. Nobody needed their counselor to be the one flipping out. CHILL, DAMMIT, SAM. 

Phil turned and smiled slightly. “Clint had mentioned this was Stark’s idea of a psychologist’s office, but his description didn’t do it justice.” 

“I keep meaning to get a neon sign, some beer coasters, that kind of thing.” Sam confessed, and grinned when Phil chuckled. Good, not THAT serious then. “How do you feel about chocolate?” 

“Positive?” 

Sam moved behind the bar. “Hot chocolate is becoming the traditional drink around here.” He made a couple, moved into the pub, put them on the usual table, and sat down. 

“I… don’t know where to start.” Phil confessed, pacing again. 

“Take your time. Your boy likes to play darts while he talks, I can get them for you.” 

Phil smiled a little. “No, darts aren’t my thing, thanks. But, well, my ‘boy’ is the starting place, I guess.” 

Sam kept his face impassive. “Oh?” 

“Since I… came back, I’ve gotten REALLY possessive of Clint.” 

Made sense under the circumstances, they’d been separated for three years, and Clint thought he was dead. Seemed like a reasonable reaction. Sam nodded carefully. “How does Clint feel about it?” 

Phil cleared his throat. “He, uh. Enjoys it.” 

Well, sure, love of your life showing up after three years going MINE MINE MINE, he could see how that’d be enjoyable. He was gonna have to start asking questions. He HATED that. The answers around here always gave him a headache. “Has someone else complained?” 

“No, not that I know of? I just worry. I was never like this, before. Now I want to own him. It can’t be right.” 

Uh huh. Phil was a solid guy, and apparently blind to his own behaviors, interesting. So many of the goobers around here were like that. “Don’t Clint and Nat go out dancing together? A lot?” 

“Well, yes, I go once in a while, but that’s really more their thing.” He shrugged. "I have a standing invitation if I want to go along. Sometimes I do." 

“And he and Kate live in each other’s pockets.” 

“She’s his apprentice, almost a daughter. There’s nothing going on there.” Phil smiled slightly. “I mentioned it once, that other people might think something, not that I did. He shouted something about cooties and looked horrified.” 

Sam tried to make his point, AGAIN. “I’ve seen him pull all-nighters with the science crew, checking their math.” Bitching all the way, of course, and yelling when he found errors, but still. At least one night a week Phil slept alone because Barton was on the lab floor with the science staff. Once in a while it was urgent, but as far as Sam could tell, most of the time they were noodling around, trying out ideas. 

“Yes, I’m really proud of him about the math.” 

He wasn’t getting it. It was kinda sweet in a typically dumbass Avengers sort of way. “Phil. Someone truly possessive and controlling wouldn’t let him do any of those things. Let alone be proud.” 

Long pause. “...oh. I see your point.” 

Oh geez. “Has Clint complained?” Because really, the person who was the authority on Phil’s behavior in a relationship would be Clint. AT LEAST THAT’S HOW FRIENDSHIPS WORKED NOT THAT HE WAS TRAINED IN RELATIONSHIP COUNSELING. 

Phil finally drank some hot chocolate. “He seems to… enjoy it? I think, after thinking I was dead for three years, me grabbing him is sort of an, I don’t know, antidote?” 

Sam resisted the desire to slap his hand over his face. “Not an expert, here, but for any kind of relationship, how you express your feelings in private is going to be different than how you deal with each other in public. And while I don’t know about your personal time” AND OH SWEET BABY JESUS DO NOT TELL HIM, “when you’re hanging out with the team, you two appear to have a really solid relationship.” 

“I’m not turning into a control freak?” 

“Well.” Sam decided he had to get some humor in here or he’d explode. “You’re our handler, Phil, being a control freak is what you do and what makes you so good at it. But no, on a personal level, I don’t see anything that looks like undue control over anyone on the team. Including Clint.” 

Phil let out a long sigh and stared into his hot chocolate. 

“The only time I’ve seen you give anyone grief in a controlling manner, is over safety issues. That’s a GOOD thing. You and Clint, you support each other, have each others’ backs. It’s not control. It’s care. I mean, if he starts complaining, listen, but as a shrink who lives with you, I'm not seeing any negative control issues on either side.” 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Phil said with a return to his usual dry humor. 

Sam let himself breathe again. 

-A- 

Steve was sketching in Tony’s lab, slouched in on the beat-up couch. So many neat things to draw there, robots and armor and a never-ending stream of interesting people. Speaking of. 

Sam stalked in, pointed a finger at Steve, and announced “YOU ASSHOLE.” 

Uh huh. “Good day then?” Steve asked, trying not to laugh. 

“YOU DRAGGED ME INTO THIS, COUNSELING THESE MOTHERFUCKERS.” Sam waved his arms to encompass everything, all the people around them and the Tower itself. “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE PTSD? EVERY FUCKING ONE OF YOU SHOULD HAVE IT BY THE TRUCKLOAD. HOW DO I KEEP WINDING UP IN MARRIAGE COUNSELING?” 

“You’re just that good?” Steve tried. 

“UGH!” Sam waved his arms around. “I AM IN GODDAMN HIGH SCHOOL AGAIN. YOU ALL SUCK.” He turned and stomped out. 

Darcy waited until the coast was clear, then leaned in the door, raised her eyebrows. “I’m guessing Sam had someone else talk to him about a relationship?” 

“Mmm.” Steve agreed. “Maybe next time one of us has a nightmare, we should call him in. Put him on familiar ground, make him feel better.” 

“Not it.” Tony said from under his armor in the corner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and I'm going to cross the streams in my life... Y'all can find me on Twitter and tumblr as "SamuraiKnitter" if you're so inclined. <3


	11. Angry Little Shit from Brooklyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We need some social justice warrior Steve, with a side of Tony fucking Stark. The news sucks right now. So here you go. 
> 
> “A cop was roughing up a kid using Stop and Frisk as an excuse, I got between them. When he took exception to my pointing out the law, he tazed me, and I kinda punched him by reflex.” Steve didn’t like tazers. He REALLY did not like tazers. The punch really had been reflexive, and he’d pulled it at the last minute, proof being the cop wasn’t dead or in the hospital but upstairs nursing a broken nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the radio silence, there was an, um, knitting emergency. -snicker-

Pepper was in Japan – AGAIN, and without him, damn it, he LOVED JAPAN – so with no good reason to go up to the penthouse, Tony stayed late in his lab. Darcy knocked off between five and six like a normal person, after bringing in food for everyone. The rest of the lab rats were still there with him, which was making him wonder about their lives. It was Friday night. He knew he had no life, but they were too damn young to be pulling this shit, they should be out raising hell like normal young people. 

Still, most of them were in the lab with their significant others or best friends, or both, so it wasn’t like they had no social lives. Exactly. And they all looked happy enough. Hell, who was he, of all people, to judge someone else’s life? 

Still, hell-raising. Life in the fast lane was important to put everything in perspective. 

He went back to tinkering. What the world really needed was artificial gravity, and he’d bent enough other laws of physics. If he could figure out how to manufacture a gravity well, or manipulate gravitational waves… LIGO had also knocked off for the day, he hoped they were at least out partying. 

“Call for you, Sir. Twelfth Precinct.” JARVIS announced. 

What in the bleeding hell. He was the only one who got arrested around here. Even Clint would be calling from Brooklyn, not Manhattan. “Stark.” He announced toward the audio pickup at the edge of his main work bench. 

“Hey, Tony.” 

It was… Steve? 

“What’s up, buttercup?” 

“I was wondering if you could do me a big favor, grab my checkbook and bring it down to the Twelfth Precinct?” 

“Yeah, I. Precinct, as in NYPD?” 

“Around the corner from the Tower, yes.” 

“Ah, sure.” Tony blinked. The obvious reason to need a checkbook at a police station… but… Steve… “I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, I appreciate it. Shouldn’t take too long, I don’t want to ruin your evening.” And he hung up. No explanation. Polite as you please. 

Tony stood, thinking rapidly as he made his way to the door. This couldn’t be what it looked like it was, could it? But if not, then what the hell else was it? 

“You okay?” Bruce asked him as he waited for the elevator. “You look like you’re burning brain cells. I can’t tell if the smoke is that, or the usual.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just confused about something.” 

“Uh huh.” Bruce said skeptically. 

Tony was going to need a suit, if this was what it looked like. He punched for the penthouse. 

-A-

He chose an Armani; fancy but not TOO fancy, just right for a police station on a Friday night. He added a red and gold tie, so no one would forget who he was. 

Ha. Like that was likely. 

For a moment he wondered if it should worry him, that he had rules about dressing for police stations. Then he shrugged. His life had always been weird. The Avengers were just the cherry on the weird sundae. 

It was still early, though. Barely eight o’clock in the evening, and still light outside. Tony Stark knew about getting arrested on a Friday night, for sure, but who managed it so early? That took determination. 

Which described Steve Rogers. He was looking forward to the explanation on this one. 

-A-

Steve leaned back against the wall of the drunk tank and tried not to grin. So many memories. 

It was odd, though, how incredibly CLEAN the tank was, and even allowing for his Captain Americaness, everyone was remarkably well-behaved. Even the actual drunk was sleeping it off on a bunk and not shouting down the hall or starting fights among the other prisoners. 

A young, well Steve was assuming man since they were in the male drunk tank, but person, a young PERSON, came over and leaned against the wall next to him. They were wearing full makeup (nicely done, the women from his old chorus line would approve their use of eyeliner) with their jeans and tee shirt. “What are you in for?” 

Steve tried not to quirk a smile. “Obstruction of justice and assaulting an officer. Plus some stuff about false identification and whatever else they could think to tack on.” Ah, the good old days. He’d never punched cops, back then, but they hadn’t had tazers in the thirties. 

“What’d you DO?” 

“A cop was roughing up a kid using Stop and Frisk as an excuse, I got between them. When he took exception to my pointing out the law, he tazed me, and I kinda punched him by reflex.” Steve didn’t like tazers. He REALLY did not like tazers. The punch really had been reflexive, and he’d pulled it at the last minute, proof being the cop wasn’t dead or in the hospital but upstairs nursing a broken nose and bitching about entitled millenials thinking they were going to save the world. Steve had laughed the whole way through booking. Just like the thirties, the cops had not been happy that he was insufficiently intimidated, and had tried to fix that with threats. It took him an hour to get a phone call. 

He was going to regret that phone call, eventually. He should have called Natasha, but Tony would be so much more entertaining when he got here. If ever there was a man who'd make police officers cry, it was Tony Stark. 

“Wow.” The kid seemed impressed. 

“How about you?” Steve asked. Since he was stuck here, might as well make some conversation. 

“Nothing that exciting. I got picked up in the last big round of protest arrests.” 

Steve had seen that, and not been happy; he remembered what Germany had looked like in 1935, personally. “Wasn’t that a week ago?” 

“Yeah, but my roommate and I only had money to bail out one of us, and he’s diabetic, needs regular meds and stuff.” 

“So you did the right thing.” Steve concluded. 

The kid shrugged, looking at his feet. 

Steve considered the kid’s makeup, considered the looks they were both getting from other cells, looked down at the kid’s hands. The knuckles were bruised, but the kid looked unharmed, otherwise. “What’s your name?” 

“Chris.” The kid replied. “Chris Smith.” At Steve’s look, they half-laughed. “I know, right? Didn’t bother changing it when I transitioned, and the Smith thing, it’s like hiding in plain sight on the internet. There are a million of us.” 

Steve nodded and smiled a little. “What pronouns you want, kid?” 

They blinked a little, then smiled brightly. “He and him works, thanks.” 

-A- 

They said scent was directly connected to the memory center of your brain. Tony thought neuroscience was on to something, because the smell of Police Station, when he walked in the door, brought back all sorts of foggy, mostly-fond memories of his not so bygone youth. Wow, how long had it been since he got arrested? Pepper would know, to the hour. Probably best not to ask her. 

He walked up to the desk sergeant. “Hi, I’m here for Steve Rogers.” 

The guy looked at him even more sourly than Tony was used to, from cops. Wow, he was looking forward to the full story on this. 

“The snotty attitude case. One of your boy toys?” The cop said with a sneer. 

Tony was starting to get offended. Sure, Steve was an asshole, but he was THEIR asshole. Nobody else got to rag on him. “We prefer the term ‘angry little shit from Brooklyn’, but for your purposes, yes. The attitude case. Where is he?” He was going to ignore the 'boy toy' portion of the insult or he'd wind up next to Steve in the cell and they'd have to call Natasha. 

“Downstairs in a cell where he belongs.” The cop snarled. “If I had my way, he’d stay there, so don’t start your Tony fucking Stark bullshit with me. Make sure he at least gets his ID fixed before he punches another cop, or he won’t be getting bail again.” 

“You put him in a cell.” Tony repeated, barely taking in anything past that. 

“He punched a goddamn cop. He’s lucky he’s not in the hospital.” 

Tony coughed back a laugh, but it didn’t seem to have worked from the way the cop was glaring. “You… you put him in a cell, and you think his ID is wrong.” No, actually, this required a good long laugh, and he indulged. “I’m Tony fucking Stark,” he gasped out, “here to pick up a big blonde guy called STEVE ROGERS, and you haven’t put it together yet.” He had to stop and wheeze a little. “You. Oh my god. Do you have ANY detectives in the building?” Tony gave up, dropped onto a nearby bench, and cackled. “Oh god. You put him in a cell because his ID was fucked up. You mean the nineteen eighteen birth date. Oh god.” A pause for more cackling. 

The desk sergeant had gone white as Tony started laughing, then turned a little green, and then white again. He was currently on the phone to someone. Tony had lost track, trying to catch his breath. 

Some guy appeared at his elbow, and he got himself under control and stood, nodding at them. 

“I’m Captain DeSoto, Mister Stark, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Yeah, he bet. Tony shook the guy’s hand anyway. It was sweating. He manfully did not start laughing again. “Yeah, hi. I’m here to spring Steve Rogers.” 

“Ah, yes, about that. Mister Rogers-” 

“Captain.” Tony couldn’t resist correcting. “Captain Rogers.” 

DeSoto looked a little queasy, but nodded. “Yes. Captain Rogers. I’m afraid we have a case of mistaken identity here, we’ll-” 

“You still going to claim he punched a cop for no apparent reason? Because that? That is entertaining as hell. What was the cop doing?” 

“It was all a big misunderstanding-” 

Oh, fuck the police and their excuses. “He’s still in the cell, right? Can you take me down? I want to get a photo.” 

The captain blinked at him. “Uh. All… right?” 

Being Tony fucking Stark was the best. “After that, I’m curious to hear why he punched a cop. Captain America. Punching a cop.” 

The cop hunched his shoulders and hit the elevator button a couple more times. 

-A- 

The first Steve knew that Tony was in the house was when the flash went off. He squinted a little, and there was Tony, grinning through the bars, taking another photo. “Hi, Tony.” 

“Hey, Steve.” Another camera click. “Thanks for calling me. Sincerely. This is the best Friday night I’ve had in ages, and it’s not even dark yet.” 

“I knew you’d enjoy it.” Steve grinned. All the cops kept looking between the two of them, and then turning green when they put it together. 

“That’s Tony Stark.” Chris said from next to him. Then he looked at Steve, then back at Tony. “Oh my god.” 

“I know, right?” Tony said to Chris. “Isn’t this the BEST?” 

“Oh my god.” Chris repeated faintly. 

“They thought my ID was wrong.” Steve told him. 

Chris gave a high, semi-hysterical laugh. “Oh shit.” 

“Let’s go, princess.” Tony told him through the bars as a cop unlocked the door. “They’re dropping all charges. You’ve got some paperwork to sign, and we’re gonna go get a drink somewhere I can laugh for another ten minutes.” 

“The hell they’re dropping the charges.” Steve glared at the nearest cop, who flinched. “That’d make it all conveniently go away, now, wouldn’t it? Oh no, we’re bailing me out and I am going to court to ask some questions. Because what I saw today was police brutality. And that was BEFORE they tazed me.” 

“...or we can do that.” Tony agreed, waving him through the door. “We can call the lawyers after I’m done laughing.” 

All the cops looked like they wanted to vomit. 

“You really shouldn’t taze him.” Tony told them un-helpfully. “It pisses him off.” 

“Come on, let’s go.” Steve told Chris. 

“What?” 

“I’m not leaving you here, for heaven’s sake. Stuck in jail for a week, for carrying a sign and yelling slogans? Not on my watch.” Steve laid a careful hand on the kid’s shoulder, and when he didn’t flinch away, steered him out of the cell. “Tony, Chris. Chris, Tony. He’s coming with us.” 

“The more the merrier.” Tony said cheerfully, shaking Chris’s hand. “If he shows up at your door next week, hiding from Hydra and asking for help… wait, here, let me just get you a business card.” 

Chris gave another faintly hysterical laugh. 

-A- 

While Steve was telling off the poor bastard in charge of getting him to sign the paperwork dropping the charges, Tony got the low-down on what was going on with Chris. Of course Steve would find a nice kid in a jail cell. HE had never found nice kids in jail cells, all the times he got thrown into them. It was so unfair. 

“Here.” Tony reached across the bail-cop’s desk and pulled a pen out of the guy’s cupholder. (He had his own pen in a pocket, but why use it when he can annoy these assholes instead?) He scribbled on the back of one of his own business cards. “This is the number for a couple lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen, they’ll get this straightened out for you. Tell them Steve and Tony sent you, and to bill me.” 

The kid took the card, stared down at it, and blinked back what might have been a few tears. “Thanks.” 

“No problem. You need a ride home or anything?” 

“No, I’m...” he cleared his throat. “I’m good, great, thank you.” 

“Glad to help. I wouldn’t have missed this. I am SO GLAD he called me in.” 

“Is he always like this?” Chris asked faintly, as Steve shredded the dropped-charges paperwork, flung the pieces on the desk, and dared the cop to arrest him again. 

“He’s usually worse, but he’s probably trying to set a good example for you.” Tony decided, patted Chris on the shoulder, and stepped forward. “No, no, I am absolutely picking up the cost of your bail. I won’t hear otherwise. It’ll be the most entertaining hundred grand I ever spent.” 

“You get it back when I show up for court, Tony.” 

“See? I’m not even spending it.” Tony pulled out his black Amex, jerked a thumb at Chris. “Put him on my tab, too.” 

Tony leaned back against the desk as the charge was put through, taking in terrified cops at their desks, a couple more all screaming at each other in an office with glass walls, Steve grinning back at him, and a relieved-looking kid. 

Yep. Best Friday night in a long time. 

And there was still the court date. 


	12. Do Dead Guys Dream of Zombie Sheep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool swings by with some intel. 
> 
> “And how are you, Mister Wilson?” 
> 
> “Hey, hey!” he said. “I’m in my damn costume, here!” 
> 
> “Of course, my apologies. How are you this evening, Deadpool?”

Every Tuesday night, disasters willing, Phil and Clint tried to go on a date. Often it was as simple as going to a movie and necking in the back of the theater while something they didn’t care about unfolded on the screen. But if they could manage it, they got out of the Tower on Tuesday nights, and did something together. Usually they wound up at the little patisserie that Pepper had first sent them to, drinking something hot and eating something full of sugar. 

Phil worried for a little bit about having a predictable routine. But then he remembered Sam’s weekly coffee break at the Viaduct Cafe, and how many young mutants and other interesting people they’d met that way and decided he and Clint together could handle anything odd that would happen on a date, and the benefit might be worth the risk. He leaned back in his chair (back to the wall, face toward the door), put down his fork, and watched as someone entered the patisserie and stalked toward them. It would be interesting, whether this one turned out to be a benefit or a risk. “Be alert, be ready, but do not do anything threatening.” he told Clint softly. 

“...uh huh.” Clint said disbelievingly. “You know this guy?” 

“We’ve met.” 

“Of course you have.” 

As the newcomer walked through the restaurant, everyone fell silent, until you could hear a pin drop as he pulled a chair (that wasn’t in use, thankfully) from another table, swung it around, and straddled it, arms resting on the back, with them at their table. “Hey, Phil.” he said. It sounded warm. “Glad to see you’re not dead.” 

“Thanks.” Phil said, forcing himself to match the easy tone of voice. “And how are you, Mister Wilson?” 

“Hey, hey!” he said. “I’m in my damn costume, here!” 

“Of course, my apologies. How are you this evening, Deadpool?” 

-A- 

Clint was trying to have a nice, normal, calm date with Phil. He should have known that was too much to expect in his life, but really. How damn hard was it supposed to be? Movies and a stop after for pastries. They were about halfway through their pot of tea and their citrus nut chocolate thing and this GUY showed up. 

It reminded him of his circus days, which was a bigass red flag, right there. He and Phil were both facing the door, so Clint spotted him as soon as he walked in. Full red outfit that looked like kevlar, including mask, with black accents including black tabi-boot combos on his feet and giant black circles for eyes. It’d look like a ridiculous cartoon except the guy was lean and moved with a ready-to-fight grace that Clint knew all too well. 

The katanas sticking over the guy’s shoulders were cause for concern. And the handguns on his thighs. And knives in his boots, and on his forearms. And in his belt. Where a couple grenades were hanging. With some extra magazines for the handguns. 

He was like Mad Max met Aragorn on the way to a South Park costume party. Which was when Phil told him to stay alert but not act, which was Phil’s usual direction when he wasn’t sure quite what was going to happen but they were dealing with EXTREMELY dangerous situations. The kind of thing Phil told him when meeting with African warlords, ninjas, the genetically enhanced, or Natasha Romanov. 

Clint let himself sigh as he shifted so his feet were under him, and got a good grip on his fork. (Throwing forks was a great distraction; no one ever expected it. Plus he and Natasha would laugh their asses off over it later and she’d call him the Blue Rajah for days.) 

Phil and the new guy, Deadpool, apparently, chatted politely while Clint kept an eye on the door and the maitre’d in the hopes no one was calling the cops. Cops on a date meant something had gone horribly wrong and HE WAS REALLY TRYING, HERE, GODDAMN IT. Then the guy spoke to him. 

“Hawkeye, right?” He held out a gloved hand. “I’m a huge fan. Stone age weapons, killing space aliens? That was some blockbuster movie shit!” 

Clint shook the hand cautiously. “Uh, thanks.” 

“Plus your dog is a sweetheart. Best boy.” 

“You know my dog.” Oh, Christ. 

Deadpool shrugged, his katanas shifting like they were waving hello. “I go through Brooklyn once in a while. Don’t worry, I like animals. I pet him when I see him, nothing psychotic. Only crazy people hump animals.” 

Okay then. Clint nodded cautiously and took his hand back, wondering if he should count his fingers to make sure they were all still there. 

“So what brings you here tonight?” Phil asked calmly. 

“Oh, that. Yeah. Sorry to interrupt date night, you two make such a cute couple. Badass boyfriends. You’re adorable.” 

A waiter appeared. “Can we bring you or your… guest… anything, sirs?” 

Before Phil or Clint could speak, Deadpool perked up. “Yeah, can I get half a dozen chocolate cream puffs to go? That would be great, thank you.” 

The waitperson nodded and escaped. 

“Vanessa loves cream puffs. I am so getting laid tonight.” Deadpool confided. 

Clint tried not to wince. 

“The reason for your visit?” Phil repeated. 

“Right, right.” he lowered his voice a little, leaned forward. “Hydra’s got the word out on you. Like, all you bright shiny heroes in Stark’s big dick of a tower. They want you dead or alive, but the bounty for alive is triple the dead one. You guys getting dead would make me sad. And Hydra sucks oozing rat ass.” 

Clint reminded himself that cussing a very loud blue streak was not likely to result in more chocolate nut citrus things. “And you’re not hauling us in?” he asked instead. 

Deadpool sat back, offense in every line of his body. “hell no!! Partly because I refuse to work for racist fuckstains, but mostly because I figure since you all saved the planet from creepy-ass space whales, I owe you all.” 

Huh. The guy apparently had morals, which would be why Phil wasn’t more concerned when he showed up, Clint figured. 

“Thank you.” Phil said, “we appreciate the intel.” 

“No problem.” The mask shifted like the guy was smiling. 

A waiter came by with a fancy bag, presumably full of chocolate cream puffs. 

“Thanks!” Deadpool said, brightly as a little kid. 

The waiter smiled cautiously, and disappeared again. 

“Anyway, give me a call if you need me, I enjoy slicing and dicing Hydra. Free of charge. They piss me off.” 

The guy slid a business card across the table to Phil. Clint could see it; it was blank except for a phone number. The phone number was written in red crayon. 

“We’ll keep you in mind.” Phil said, slipping the card into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Deadpool leaned over the table to Phil. “When you were dead. You were dead, right?” 

“I was.” Phil said evenly. 

“When you were dead, did you dream?” 

Phil blinked at that for a split second, then recovered. “No. I don’t remember anything after dying, until I woke up in a hospital bed again.” 

“Huh.” Deadpool said thoughtfully. “I always have the most fucked up dreams when I’m dead. Just wondered. Thanks for the answer, it’s not like I know bunches of people who’ve died, right? We gotta stick together.” He gave a wild, high pitched giggle, and dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Thanks for the info. Stay safe. Have nice sex tonight!” 

He stood up and left the restaurant, taking his pastries with him. 

“What in the fucking hell.” Clint said. 

Phil waved down the waiter, asked for their tab, including Deadpool’s cream puffs. 

“I hope to hell we can come back here.” Clint grumbled. 

“Me too.” Phil said with a half-grin. He paid their bill with Deadpool’s hundred, after checking to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. He added another hundred on top, in the hopes the big tip would make up for their guest, since he HAD showed up armed, but hadn’t hurt anyone. 

“Walk back?” Phil asked, out on the sidewalk. 

“Sure.” Hydra was even more serious about getting to them than they’d thought, but what was some risk when it came to romantic walks? Clint slipped his arm through Phil’s. 

They were about half a block away when Phil finally started to talk. “His name is Wade Wilson. Horribly abusive childhood, got thrown out of the Canadian military.” 

“That takes some effort.” 

“I know. He worked as a mercenary for a while, then Department X got hold of him. I’m not sure how, no one has been forthcoming about it.” 

Clint winced. 

“X broke him. He hadn’t been terribly sane before, but Department X put him over the top. He came out the other side indestructible and very unstable. He still works as a mercenary.” 

“And this doesn’t seem like a terrifying super-villain origin story to you?” 

Phil shook his head. “He always had a really strong sense of right and wrong, never took hits on innocents, still doesn’t. You heard him tonight, he’s willing to go after Hydra with us for free, because he doesn’t like them. He could be making millions working for them, and all that’s stopping him are his own morals.” 

“Huh.” Clint would have to think on that for a while. 

“Consider him chaotic neutral.” Phil told him. 

“You are such a nerd.” Clint laughed. 

They walked into the executive lobby of the Tower and waved to the security people working, went to the private ‘vator. “Want to go have nice sex?” 

Clint laughed some more. “Sure. If that’s all the better we can do.” He leaned in and kissed Phil. 


	13. High Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .@gldmedalarcher High noon, Central Park, this Saturday. You bring your targets, I’ll bring mine. -Hawkeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some homophobia mentioned in this one - but it's seen (rightly) as something that makes a person an asshole.

Darcy had been aware, of course, that the summer Olympics were going on. They were kind of hard to miss if you paid any attention to PR, which of course she was still trying to deal with for the Avengers. (If they didn’t hire someone qualified soon, she was going to tweet out a photo of her naked ass on the official account to get herself fired.) But good gods, she’d had a few more things on her mind, what with Hydra and AVENGERS PR and finding herself living in the Tower surrounded by crazy people. 

Case in point. 

She was hunched over her computer on the lab floor, going through purchasing orders for the support staff, when Clint burst in from the stairs, came straight to her desk, and GRABBED HER PHONE. 

“Hey!” 

He ignored her, PUNCHED IN HER LOCK CODE, and swiped through things furiously. 

“Hey, damn it, that is MY PHONE.” Darcy got up and tried to get her phone back, which turned into a sort of dance, Clint’s back to her to keep her from reaching the phone as he typed furiously with his thumbs – she hadn’t even known he could text that fast – and wound up with him standing on the arm of the couch, one foot up on the back, when he paused for a long moment, grinned like the evil asshole he was, and handed the phone back. 

Darcy looked at it. He’d opened it to the Avengers’ Twitter account and sent out 

.@gldmedalarcher High noon, Central Park, this Saturday. You bring your targets, I’ll bring mine. -Hawkeye 

It already had over a thousand retweets and the ticker was climbing so fast she couldn’t peg the exact number. Using a move Natasha taught her, she kicked his legs out from under him and stepped back as he crashed off the couch. 

“I suppose I deserved that.” Clint decided from the floor, then rolled to his feet, and called into the shop, “TONY! I’m gonna need two of your target droids calibrated to function in the outside world by Saturday!” 

“WHAT?” Tony shouted, outraged. 

At least she wasn’t the only one angry with him. Darcy went to call the mayor and apologize. And arrange for crowd control. That she was going to make Clint pay for. 

Phil texted before she could. -What’s going on? Have the mayor’s office on hold.- 

-YOUR BOYFRIEND- Darcy texted back. She took a screen shot of the damn tweet and texted it. 

The tweet was up past ten thousand retweets and picking up speed. 

-A- 

“Look. The motherfucker kept saying in interviews that my technique is terrible and I don’t know what I’m doing and clearly he was better.” Clint explained over dinner. “There has also been an undercurrent of me being in love with a guy makes me a horrible person.” 

“He has been an utter prick about it.” Kate agreed. “Though I’m not sure Clint’s method of dealing with it is the greatest idea.” 

“Thank you.” Darcy grumbled. 

“We should have done it indoors somewhere and sold tickets.” Kate continued. 

Darcy decided pounding her head on the table wouldn’t accomplish anything. She wondered if pounding Clint’s head on the table would help. She was willing to try it. 

“Let me get this straight.” Sam asked. “The guy – American – who won gold for archery at the Olympics has decided to tell everyone, in every interview, that he’s better than you.” 

“Yes.” Clint replied, clearly thrilled someone was getting it. 

“Probably the gold has gone to his head and the arrogance is making him stupid.” Sam diagnosed. “Have fun destroying him.” 

Clint hooted with laughter and bumped fists with Sam. 

“You’re paying for the crowd control.” Phil told Clint. “I told the City, too. It’s coming out of your pocket.” 

Darcy bumped fists with Phil. “THANK YOU.” 

“Aw, come on! That’s a fortune!” Clint almost-whined. 

“You can use the rest of that mob money we stole last summer.” Kate told him. 

Everyone stared. 

“Uh, that you know nothing about.” Kate told everyone. 

“It’s cash! I try to pay the city in cash-” 

“I’ll take care of it.” Tony told him. 

“Whether you are taking care of it by laundering the money or paying for it yourself, never tell me.” Phil told them both. “If you ever steal money from the mob again, AND KEEP IT, you’re sleeping on the couch for eternity.” he added to Clint. 

“Sheesh. You guys have no sense of fun.” Clint told them all. “Shooting match in Central Park! High noon!” 

Everyone jeered and threw things at him. 

-A- 

“Okay, I had no idea it would be THIS big a deal.” Clint admitted, looking out over the sea of news vans, temporary grandstands, and signs cheering on fan favorites. Mostly Hawkeye, but a few for the Olympics guy. 

Darcy dope smacked him, pretty hard. She heard half a dozen phone cameras go off, so she did it again. She was going to be live-tweeting the whole thing to the Avengers’ account. They’d decided to do that for all the fans who couldn’t make it to New York. (Also with the hope that maybe a few people IN New York would stay the hell home and watch it on Twitter.) 

Her own choice to do it was mostly in hope that by staying behind the camera, she wouldn’t wind up in too many photos. Just to be on the safe side, Natasha had done her hair and makeup, and she was wearing sunglasses Nat had picked out. She was also wearing her support staff uniform of black cargo pants and black polo shirt. 

Hopefully with all that, her mother wouldn’t recognize her. If she wound up with her mother on her ass about working with the Avengers, she really would kill Clint. 

Kate slipped up beside her. “Gold Medal Asshole is on site. He looked thrilled when he saw the size of the crowd and is currently signing autographs and telling everyone how great he is.” 

Kate was also wearing the Avengers support staff uniform, and had Natasha work her magic. The mouse-brown wig with purple streaks was awesome. 

Other than Tony and Bruce, who were standing guard over the targeting droids that were going to be round two of the shooting contest, and Natasha, who was standing guard over Clint’s bows at the waiting line, the Avengers were near their front row seats, signing autographs and taking selfies with fans. Compared to the mob around them, the gold medalist who’d started the whole thing had what looked like a small crowd of hard-core archery groupies and not much else. 

“Get your ass out there and get this moving.” Darcy ordered Clint. “It’s costing money.” 

“Tick tock, motherfucker.” Kate added with a grin. 

-A- 

Clint was trying to figure if he should play this as Hawkeye, Avenger, or The Amazing Hawkeye, circus headliner, because with the size of the crowd, he really had the urge to play it up. 

What the hell, it was his crowd, right? If it wasn’t now, it would be by the time he was done. 

He stood straight, loosened his shoulders, (‘oh, shit’ Kate said under her breath, ‘cause she knew him) and strode out into the archery lanes, until he was in roughly the center of the area. He faced the main stands, raised his arms, and bowed. The crowd went wild. 

Amazing Hawkeye, world’s greatest marksman, and don’t you forget it. 

He turned and bowed to the other side of the lanes, got more applause. A sign caught his eye - “Go, Landlord!” - aw, his tenants had turned out. He blew them an extravagant kiss and bowed again. They all blew kisses back and laughed. 

He turned and saluted the rest of the Avengers, who all rolled their eyes at him. Thor stood and bowed formally in return. Thor was his favorite. 

With the crowd properly warmed up, he went back to the waiting line, where Kate had replaced Nat and was standing by with his gear. He buckled on his arm guards and shooting glove, then waited for Mister Ego to show up. 

Eventually the guy did arrive, trailing an entourage and – oh for fuck’s sake – wearing his gold medal. 

Clint thought his Hawkeye tee shirt rather made the point without a medal, especially since it matched about half the crowd. 

There was a pause while part of the entourage actually MEASURED OUT the distance to the targets, and Clint let himself laugh. It was either psychological warfare against him – ahahaha – or the guy seriously needed to know the distance to his targets – ahahaha. Clint let himself stand and chuckle while the inspections were done. They wanted to look at his bow, so he handed over the one he’d brought for this, that met every Olympic standard. They actually weighed it, and looked disconcerted when it passed every rule they could think of to apply to it. 

Clint laughed some more. He’d faced down space aliens with a stone age weapon, and these guys thought they’d psych him out. He glanced over and Kate was giggling behind her hand. Darcy just looked incredulous as she took a photo and posted it to Twitter. He hoped she made some comment about insecurity. 

The crowd was getting bored, so Clint began juggling arrows. There was faint applause and laughter. Mostly he didn’t want this to turn ugly. Even a crowd that was in a mood for fun could turn on a dime if they were bored. Rule one of the circus. 

FINALLY, Gold Medal deigned to admit that Clint wasn’t breaking any rules. He strode forward to shake hands, grabbed Clint’s, and… tried to crush it. 

Clint had SWORN he wasn’t going to get rude, but, well. “You’re adorable.” he told the guy. 

From the look on the guy’s face, homophobia was DEFINITELY part of the issue here. Oh yeah, he was going for broke. 

“You first. I insist.” Clint said with a sweeping bow and gesture toward the shooting line. The crowd couldn’t miss the sentiment, and they all applauded, probably his good sportsmanship. Ha. They’d learn. 

Gold Medal frowned, looking for the catch, then strode up to the shooting line. 

Clint had arranged this slightly different than the Olympics. One target, one arrow. Six targets for the traditional six shots in an Olympic round, but instead of all going into the same target, there was one target for each. He’d said it was to avoid any questions about accuracy later. 

He lied. 

“Give me the purple quiver.” Clint asked Kate. She smiled brightly, and handed it over. 

There were two quivers, one black and one purple. Both contained six arrows that met all the Olympics criteria. Except Clint had spent last night honing the points on the arrows in the purple quiver, to be ready in case he decided he was gonna be a showman about it all. Or an asshole. Showman-asshole. That was him. 

Gold Medal did a decent round. All bulls-eyes, but not all of them were dead center; one was even on the line. Clint wouldn’t have considered it great, but from the smile on the guy’s face, he thought it was. 

Clint stepped to the shooting line before anyone could think to remove the arrows, saluted the crowd. 

Nock, draw, breathe, release. He took the time to make sure his technique was perfect, angle his body properly, shoulders even, arm straight along the length of the arrow, the little dip of the bow at the end. The honed target point hit the arrow as planned and split it, thumping into the target with half an arrow sticking out on either side. 

The crowd went nuts. 

He smiled and bowed, and moved on to the second target. 

By the time he’d split all six arrows, the crowd was screaming, the Avengers and his tenants were laughing, and Gold Medal looked a little green. 

“You concede, or you wanna re-shoot it?” Clint asked. 

“You’re showing off.” Gold Medal hissed between his teeth. 

“Absolutely. You wanna do it again? We can, we can even use the official Olympics system. Metric or Imperial, up to you. You can provide my arrows.” 

“No.” Gold Medal turned away, began to take off his arm guards. 

“Hey, no, we’re not done.” Clint reminded him. “I said I’d bring my targets too, remember? You gonna bug out halfway through?” 

Gold Medal glared at him. 

Clint grinned back. “Just so you know, my targets? They move. You might wanna get a different bow, or at least pull the stabilizer off.” Deciding to rub salt in, some, he added “If you want, I brought an extra short range bow if you want to borrow it.” Like the guy had the skill to shift to a bow he’d never used before, and hit anything at all on the first try, with a crowd watching. 

He turned, tossed the regulation bow to Kate, who caught it handily and tossed back his favorite short-range bow. He slung it over his shoulder and went down the lanes to help Tony, Bruce, and Steve move the targets out of the way. Gold Medal, rage in every muscle, began pulling the stabilizer off his bow. 

It would take him a week to put it back on and get it just right. Or cost him a zillion dollars for someone else to do it. Clint let himself laugh like the asshole he was. 

“If it’s okay with you, we’re going to take the split arrows, auction them for charity.” Tony told him, pulling them carefully from the targets before he’d allow them to be moved. 

“Oh, sure. Good idea. Can we put the money into a charity that helps kids who’ve outgrown foster care?” 

Tony gave him a look. “Yeah. We can do that.” 

“Cool.” 

They got the targets all moved around as needed, and the first of Tony’s two droids laid on the ground, ready to go. “You know it took me all day yesterday to get the programming down to something this easy.” 

Clint laughed again. “Don’t worry, he’ll miss.” 

“I’m not worried. I’m just saying, you could have skipped this round and saved me the trouble.” 

“But then he wouldn’t be completely humiliated.” Clint pointed out. He clapped Tony on the shoulder, grinned at Bruce and Steve, and went back down the lane. He got about halfway, and held up his hands for silence. 

When he got it, he announced, “The split arrows from our last round will be auctioned for charity. Details will be made available soon on our Twitter account, and the Avengers web site. Let’s have a round of applause for everyone who came out today, and made this shooting match possible!” 

He gestured down the lane to Bruce and Tony, who waved and smiled at the applause. Then he gestured to the off-duty cops doing crowd control, who blinked and smiled nervously at the recognition. Then he gestured to Kate and Darcy, who waved at the crowd while glaring at him. Nice trick. THEN, he gestured extravagantly – gayly, you could even say - at Gold Medal and his entourage. The applause backed off a good bit, but he kept right on clapping and smiling, himself. 

Oh yes, he was an asshole, his momma would be proud at his display of manners, yes she would. 

He held up his hands again, then announced “Round Two is going to be the same as Round One, except with moving targets. I’ll go first to demonstrate.” He gave a quick salute, and trotted back down to the shooting line. 

“It’s real easy.” Clint told Gold Medal, letting his Iowa Hick shine through. “All you do is hit the red circle. I even had them made the same size and color as the Olympic targets to make it easier for you.” He grinned at the look on the guy’s face. “Easier’n womp rats!” he couldn’t resist adding. 

Because of the crowd, they’d had to keep the movement of the targets REALLY confined. Wouldn’t do to have a wild shot go into the crowd, after all. (In fact, this whole thing was stupidly dangerous and he’d been an idiot to suggest it; if it had been guns, the City would have told him to go fuck himself, but for some reason arrows were considered less dangerous. They really weren’t.) 

“Okay, Tony, let it rip!” he shouted. 

The target rose from the ground, hovered so that the red dot would be the same height from the ground as it would be on an Olympic target, then started drifting around. The movement only strayed six inches from center, meaning the target always remained within a one foot area. 

“That’s a moving target?” Kate demanded in disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” 

The Olympics contingent glared at her. 

“Well Jesus,” she told them, “compared to a space alien, that’s basically holding still.” 

Clint thought he coughed back the laugh, but from the glares, he guessed not. 

He nocked an arrow, looked back at Gold Medal, smiled brightly, and released it without looking. Down the lanes, the target gave a loud beep and a flash of light when the red dot was hit. 

Gold Medal looked a little shocked. 

“You don’t have time for perfect technique when things are trying to kill you.” Clint told the guy. Then he rapid-fired the last five arrows, to five loud beeps. 

The crowd went wild. 

Gold Medal stared down the lane, stared at Clint, then gathered up his things and walked away. 

“Does this mean you concede?” Clint asked. 

He kept walking. 

“WHERE’S MY MEDAL?” Clint shouted after him. 

The entourage hunched their shoulders, scooted in closer together, and kept on walking. 

Well shit. 

“I really wanted to watch him fuck that up.” he confessed to Kate and Darcy. 

“Me too.” Kate agreed. 

“You’re such an asshole.” Darcy told him, but she was laughing when she said it. She looked out at the crowd, who was shifting around, confused. “You’re gonna have to come up with a final round, cupcake, because they’re not ready to leave yet. If this turns into negative publicity I’ll dance on your grave after Phil and Natasha kill you.” 

Natasha would be his lovely assistant for a quick shooting exhibition, she’d done it before. And she would make him pay, and pay, and pay. 

Well, shit. 


	14. Round Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Round three, Romanov, what’s the bet?” Tony demanded. 
> 
> Natasha raised her eyebrow. “Round three of what?” 
> 
> “Who can make a bigger scene walking out of a congressional hearing!” Tony said, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to bitch out the senate right now, so have some Id!Fic.

They were all huddled over dinner when Pepper stalked in, still very clearly in CEO mode, and dropped a tri-folded bundle of official-looking papers next to Tony’s plate. Without slowing, she continued to the fridge and began mixing herself a concoction of fruit juices and vodka. 

“Uh huh.” Tony commented, and picked up the papers. He flipped them open, read for a second, and began to grin. The more he read, the bigger the smile got, until he was openly laughing. “I fucking love my life.” 

“I don’t.” Pepper replied darkly, letting Steve usher her to a seat. She smiled faintly when he got a full plate out of the oven and placed it in front of her, and continued drinking. 

“Round three, Romanov, what’s the bet?” Tony demanded. 

Natasha raised her eyebrow. “Round three of what?” 

“Who can make a bigger scene walking out of a congressional hearing!” Tony said, laughing, and threw the papers down on the table. 

Natasha picked up the papers and skimmed quickly. “No bet. This is going to be way more fun than mine was. It’s completely illegal.” 

“Can we please, for the last time, stop treating congressional hearings as entertainment.” Pepper snarled. 

Everyone looked at each other for a long moment. 

Finally Darcy spoke. “Um. No. I’m really sorry, but… no.” She shrugged. “Sorry. Poly-sci. For me it’s better than movies.” 

“She watches CSPAN for fun. It’s horrifying.” Kate told them. 

Coulson patted Pepper’s shoulder and got up to refill her drink. 

-A-

It was a whole lot like the last one, Tony thought. He’d even worn the same sunglasses for luck. This time he had the Avengers AND Pepper sitting directly behind him, though. And he’d called and checked; Rhodey would not be ambushing him today, either. And the Hydra guy who’d led the last committee was currently in prison. His legal department was treating this entire issue as a personal affront. So really, there wasn’t a damn thing he had to worry about. 

“Order.” Senator Boynton demanded, pounding a gavel. 

Tony very ostentatiously pulled a flask out of his inner suit pocket and poured a dollop of tap water into his coffee. Behind him, Natasha coughed “shit vodka” into her hand, and he gave up and let himself chuckle. Five senators glared at him for not taking this seriously, and he toasted them with his mug. Fuck this. He was here to tell them no to everything, why try to make them happy at this stage? It wouldn’t work. 

Plus, shit, the drink wasn’t even a martini. He’d considered fake booze pretty seriously. 

He was sworn in, and instead of the traditional ‘yes’ to ‘do you swear, etc’, he said brightly “You betcha!” and swigged more coffee. 

There was the usual wrangling and basic questions, to establish on the record who he was and why he was there. Essentially, he was the former Merchant of Death, for today’s purposes. Emphasis on former, in his mind. Emphasis on Merchant of Death, in theirs. Guess who was gonna be more stubborn? 

“So, Mister Stark, the Jericho Missile.” Boynton finally said. 

Tony smiled politely and refused to answer until he got an actual question. Silence hung like smoke. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his ankles; compared to space aliens, this was nothing. Really, there was nothing like flying a live nuke into a portal to another dimension, for putting life’s problems in perspective. What could they POSSIBLY do to him? 

“The US Government would like to know why you quit arming her and her allies.” Boynton finally said, giving in first. 

Ha. 

“Because I wasn’t arming the US and her allies, I was making weapons of mass destruction that were being sold to the highest bidder by my COO.” Tony said easily. This was ancient history. He’d lose control of the room if he went off about ancient history. 

Which was too bad, because he could rant for days. 

“And so instead of investigating, correcting the problem, you shut down all manufacturing?” some other senator asked. 

These were like rhetorical questions. He could never believe how much of congress was composed of lawyers, considering how bad they were at grilling people. “Yep.” He said. Shutting down the manufacturing HAD corrected the problem, now, hadn’t it? 

“Thereby breaking several contracts-” 

“No.” Tony interrupted. “Those contracts were not BROKEN. They were BOUGHT OUT. All legal and above board. Imply anything else and I will have Stark Industries’ legal department explain it to you in great and expensive detail.” He’d used his own money to buy out those contracts, to get out from under them right away. He was damned if anyone would imply he broke the law when following it cost him a couple billion dollars. 

There was another long pause from the senators. Tony fought the urge to whistle. 

“The NSA has recently filed a claim to all your past weapon designs, under Eminent Domain.” Boynton finally said. 

That had been a statement. There was no need to answer a statement, was there? Tony got the thermos out of his briefcase and poured himself another mug of coffee. Behind him he could hear Clint trying not to laugh. 

“The government requires those designs, Mister Stark.” 

Tony sighed. “You’re not getting them.” He drank some coffee. 

“The NSA-” 

“Look.” Tony interrupted. “Those designs you want? The Jericho, and all the rest of the high tech shit? They don’t exist. Not any more. The computer records have been deleted, the paper files burned. Wiped clean by the wrath of Tony Stark. The only place they still exist is in my head. It is not only illegal, but impossible, to pry my brain open and get them.” 

“The government can compel you to reproduce them.” Boynton said. 

Good Turing, this guy was worse than Stern had been. 

“No you can’t.” Tony said. “All legality aside – and my legal department will be happy to drag this out for decades – Ten Rings tortured me for three months for those designs, and all that got them was destroyed by the Mark One armor.” He paused, leaned in to the mic. “I have to admit, I’m kind of curious about what kind of weapon I’d invent, if you tried it.” he leaned in to the mic, glaring at Boynton, “the weapon I would never allow you or any other government to lay hands on.” 

“The Avengers would not stand for it.” Steve said loudly behind him, making everyone in the room jump. The press went quietly wild, cameras flashed, and there were mutters into phones and recorders all through the room. 

Dammit Steve. As far as Tony was concerned, STEVE was the only wild card in today’s hearing. 

Boynton banged with his gavel some more. “Order, or I’ll clear the room.” 

Oh, sure he would. Then where would he get his audience? Without an audience, how would he shame Tony Stark? And how was he so stupid he thought Tony Stark could be shamed, especially over this? 

Tony would LOVE to see what throwing Captain America out of a senate hearing would do for Boyonton’s soon-to-be-dead-anyway career as an elected official. 

Tony waited until things got settled again, and before Boynton or anyone else could speak, he did. “Know where I found the last Jericho missile produced by Stark Industries?” the panel of senators all glared at him, and he smiled. “North Korea. Obadiah Stane sold Jericho missiles to North Korea. It’s been recovered and destroyed. You’re welcome.” 

More gasps and murmurs from the press. He’d never followed up with the public on anything that happened in the shakeup of SI five years ago; maybe he should have. 

Eh, fuck it. 

“At the time I designed that missile, I thought it WAS going to be used to protect the US. And yet. North Korea. And the last time I got hauled in front of a senate committee, it was to appropriate the armor, and oh look, who was the guy leading the pack of senators screaming for it? Stern. Hydra.” 

At this point, Boynton started to bluster. 

“Yeah. You always say it’ll be different this time. They’ll be safeguarded, they’ll be used wisely. And yet. Every damn time.” 

“The US needs-” 

“No. The US doesn’t need more weapons of mass destruction. It needs a better State Department, it needs to take the UN seriously, it needs to plow more money into NATO.” He stood. 

“We’re not through here, Mister Stark.” Boynton said. “We know your history, and we have a Sergeant at Arms ready to take you into custody if you walk out of here.” 

“The only way I will cooperate with the government is if you make me Secretary of State. And since the current president is an ASSCLOWN of epic proportions, not worthy to shine my shoes, that won’t be happening either. Have a nice day.” 

He gave a casual, sarcastic salute, gathered his briefcase, drained his coffee cup, and turned and walked out. The press was going wild, and Steve and Phil were pushing them out of the way, while the rest of the Avengers and Pepper brought up the rear. They got out into the hall, followed by a swarm of media buzzing like bees, and hauled up against some cops of some kind, coming up the hall the other way. 

“I’ll take this.” Steve said, stepping forward, Captain America in the set of his shoulders and the line of his jaw. 

All going to plan. He handed his coffee cup to Clint and took a pile of briefing packets from Natasha, and turned to face the press. They were all clamoring for comments. 

“Yes. I have a comment.” He said to get them to shut up. They did. “In fact, I have evidence.” He handed out several stacks of the packets. “Hand those around. They’re evidence that Boynton is conspiring with Justin Hammer to get my designs. Once they have them, the plan is for Hammer to make billions manufacturing them, and Boynton to get a fifteen percent kickback of all profits.” 

Pandemonium. 

“Make sure to check out the listing of offshore accounts on the last page, those are really interesting!” he added. 

By then Steve was done shaming the cops into inaction, and they all swept out of the building and down the front steps to where Happy waited with the limo. 

“Maybe everything IS better with a team.” Tony admitted, once they were moving. 

Everyone high-fived, and Natasha popped the cork off a bottle of champagne. 


	15. Black Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A police captain walked in, looking harassed, and Tony grinned. “Captain DeSoto! What's shakin'?” 
> 
> Steve fought the urge to hold his head in his hands, or strangle Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been low-grade enraged lately, and starting a bar fight would be unwise. So here you go, more id!fic.
> 
> I'm still working on the next major installment, but I had a Health Crash (TM) and action scenes are haaaaard. -whine-

JARVIS sent the alert to the entire Avengers team, to haul ass down to the interrogation room on the public floor, ASAP. They'd never gotten an alert like that before. People grabbed weapons and ran. 

Tony slid in the door with his briefcase armor, Bruce behind him, and stopped so fast Bruce ran into him. “Whoa. Okay, what?” Avengers were piling up in the hall behind him, so he cautiously sidled into the observation room, edging along the wall and taking up as little space as possible. 

Natasha was dressed formally; dark red dress, draped and cut to cover a lot more than you'd first think with a sleeveless short dress, her hair and makeup impeccably done, black stiletto heels. She was pacing, furious. Absolutely enraged, probably the angriest Tony had ever seen her. He pressed his back to the wall and stayed the hell out of her way. “What's going on?” He asked. 

The other woman in the room was Agent Thirteen. Tony was sure she had a name, but he didn't know what it was. She was dressed similarly to Natasha, though in blue, and looked concerned more than angry. “Not sure. We were meeting for drinks and the ballet, when I got here Nat had this guy face down on the sidewalk in front of the executive entrance.” 

Everyone looked at the guy in the interrogation room. 

It was an older white guy, muscular, head shaved, wearing a police uniform. He had a scrape along the side of his face, and looked almost as angry as Natasha. As they watched, the guy said to the mirror “You have no idea how much trouble you're in, but if you let me go you might get out of prison again sometime before you die.” Then, amazingly, he sneered. “Maybe.” 

“There's still a police car parked outside the executive entrance.” Thirteen put in helpfully. “Unless someone's stolen it. We left the door hanging open.” She sounded like she hoped someone stole it. 

“Uh huh.” Tony allowed. 

“Nat?” Steve asked, because he was brave in that kind-of-insane way. 

“I was waiting for Sharon. It's a nice night, I was out on the sidewalk. If anyone wants to complain to me about the buddy system I will tear out their liver. I was in view of JARVIS' cameras. That asshole,” she waved toward the interrogation room, “rolled up in his car, tried to proposition me. When I told him in no uncertain terms I would not date him, service him, or otherwise touch him for any reason including money, he decided to arrest me for prostitution.” 

Everyone in the room collectively winced and edged away from her a little further. 

Tony texted JARVIS, to send the video to his phone. One way or another they'd probably need it before the night was over. He checked, and yes, they had sound on the video. 

“Given that Hydra has bounties on our heads and if they haven't infiltrated police forces I am the Empress of China, I refused to get into his car. When he tried to drag me, I took him down, because no way in hell. I scraped one of my shoes.” She turned to glare into the interrogation room. “I will be getting a new pair of Valentinos out of him, if I have to take it out of his HIDE.” 

“That's when I got there.” Sharon put in. “We cuffed him and hauled him up here.” 

“Cyanide tooth?” Phil asked. 

“JARVIS scanned him in the elevator, says no.” Sharon told them. 

They all stared into the interrogation room, where the guy sat glaring and angry at the two-way mirror. 

“All right. I got this wild, crazy suggestion, but is it possible dude's actually a cop?” Sam asked. 

Everyone stared at him. 

“NYPD. There's a faint possibility guy's corrupt. Like, traditionally NYPD corrupt, not Hydra.” Sam told them. “Skinhead-looking white guy cop being a sexist, abusive asshole. I dunno, seems like good odds.” 

“We're having JARVIS run his financials, everything else, looking for any ideas.” Sharon told him. “He's wearing a twelfth precinct pin.” 

Where they'd had Steve in a cell a few weeks ago because the birth date on his ID was supposedly wrong, because Steve had punched one of them after he'd been tazed in a stop-and-frisk scuffle. Who hadn't immediately put it together when Tony showed up to bail him out. 

Who Steve had a court date with next month. 

Tony wondered if Captain DeSoto was on duty. Because if this idiot was actually a cop, they were going to have to return him, and Nat was going to file a complaint that may end in bloodshed. Shit. 

“I have analyzed all the data available to me.” JARVIS announced. “I apologize for the delay, I took the liberty of exploring the NYPD's Internal Affairs database. It seems unlikely he is Hydra; there is no sign of income going in or out that is unusual, and there is no time that is unaccounted for.” There was a pause. “However, there have been several complaints made against him over the years. According to them, he will 'arrest' women alone, then offer to let them go again if they give him oral sex.” 

Natasha froze in mid-pace. “What happened to the complaints?” 

“Ignored.” JARVIS told her. “There are several, they go back five years.” 

Tony actually watched her snap, which was terrifying. She went for the interrogation room door; Steve and Phil grabbed for her and missed. Sharon stepped out of her way. His brain couldn't really track what exactly Natasha did, because she was so damn fast. The result was the cop face-down on the table and Natasha snarling threats. When the guy lifted his head, his nose was bleeding, probably broken. Hell of a bruise already coming up on his cheekbone, too. 

Steve heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose we need to go save him.” 

“I do not see why.” Thor answered. There were a lot of nods of agreement. 

“Because she might regret it later, and bodies are a pain in the ass to dispose of.” Phil told them. He made for the interrogation room, and Steve followed along reluctantly. 

“You're going down for this, you bitch.” Cop snarled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“Guess again.” Phil said with one of his little 'fuck you' smiles. 

“Who are you assholes?” 

“Phil Coulson, director of the Avengers Initiative.” Phil said easily. 

“Steve Rogers.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “And the woman you tried to kidnap earlier tonight is the Black Widow.” 

The guy actually stalled for a minute, face going from angry to blank. Then he rallied. “I heard you were in the habit of assaulting cops around here.” He sneered. 

“I'll show you assault.” Natasha snapped, and jumped for him. Steve caught her around the waist at the last second before she grabbed the guy. 

“Keep that crazy bitch away from me.” 

“If you call her 'bitch' one more time, I will break your arm.” Phil said calmly. “Or let HER break your arm, she'd enjoy that.” 

Steve decided they should move on from the 'crazy bitch' comment before SOMEONE broke the guy's arm; it might even be him. “You are on surveillance video. The best that Tony Stark can design and buy. We've got audio too. And we're aware of your habit of grabbing women and blackmailing them into blow jobs.” 

That got one shocked blink, then the guy sat back. “I don't know what you're talking about.” 

Natasha had gotten loose and was seething. “Yeah, we're done here.” She turned to the observation window. “Stark, get us some transport. We're returning him to his precinct.” Grabbing the guy's arm, she jerked him out of his seat but didn't remove the cuffs. “Let's go.” 

“Don't touch me, bitch.” The cop spat at her. Then he shouted. 

“Oops, broke one of his fingers. Must have grabbed his hand wrong. My bad.” Natasha said without concern. 

Everyone scrambled to get transport and stay out of her way. 

“Don't push him down any stairs.” Phil called after her. 

She didn't answer. 

-A- 

Steve stuck close to Natasha, down to the garage. He was the only one with the ability to stop her from causing complete mayhem, and currently inclined to do so. Clint had appeared from somewhere and hopped on the elevator with them, laughing. He leaned against the wall of the 'vator next to Phil, and every time he looked at the cop, he started laughing again. Phil eventually broke a smile, as well. 

“Fuck you, Barton.” Natasha snarled as they got out in the parking garage, and that set him off again. 

They wound up in a van; Tony driving (“I am not missing this.”), Steve shotgun, Natasha and her prey, Sharon, and Phil. He'd tried to get the rest of them to stay at the Tower, but this was being treated as high entertainment, and the rest of them were following in another van. 

“You assholes have no idea how much trouble you're in.” The cop told them at one point. 

Steve was rapidly losing what little tolerance he had for this entire mess. “Look.” He told the guy. “I'm the only person in this van remotely concerned about your health, and I'd like to break your face. You might want to dial down the attitude.” 

“You have no idea-” The guy started again.

Natasha punched him in the side of the head. “Look at him. LOOK AT HIM. The blonde hair, the jaw line, the shoulders? THAT'S CAPTAIN AMERICA. Captain America is dragging your sorry ass into your precinct and giving everyone his disappointed face while I, his friend, lodge a formal complaint against you. ARE YOU GETTING THIS YET YOU STUPID FUCK?” 

That finally made the guy pause and look a little sick. Then he started really taking notice of his captors, and when his eyes lingered on Tony for a bit, he flinched. He turned to look in the back of the van, and Sharon smiled brightly and flashed him her SHIELD identification and badge. 

After that he shut up and sat there. 

Finally. Getting with the program. 

They parked in front of the precinct. Tony just pulled up, pulled the keys out. The others did the same. 

“Let's go.” Natasha snarled, and dragged the cop out of the van with her. 

There were police coming and going, milling around, and they all sort of stopped and stared when they saw the Avengers perp-walk a fellow cop into the building. No one tried to interfere, though, so at least they were beginning to recognize the Avengers in lower Manhattan. 

“I need to talk to whoever is in charge of this asshole.” Natasha announced at the front desk. 

“Oh, see now-” the desk sergeant began. 

“ENORMOUS ASSHOLE.” Natasha said loudly. “When the wind blows, you hear whistling noises.” 

Steve heard all sorts of snickering behind him, and sighed. 

Sharon stepped up and held up her ID. “Agent Carter, with SHIELD. We have a major security issue with this officer and would like to speak to his CO. At once.” 

“ENORMOUS ASSHOLE.” Natasha repeated. 

That got them shuffled into a conference room, away from any other public who were wondering why an Avenger was dragging in a police officer in cuffs. The cop was shoved roughly into a chair, everyone else stood against the walls, as far from Natasha as they could get. 

“Let me at least start handling this?” Steve asked Nat under his breath. “When the excuses begin, you can jump in.” 

She nodded. 

A police captain walked in, looking harassed, and Tony grinned. “Captain DeSoto! What's shakin'?” 

Steve fought the urge to hold his head in his hands, or strangle Tony. 

“What seems to be the problem here?” DeSoto asked. “If you've injured a police officer, you'll be charged with-” 

“This guy tried to arrest Black Widow earlier. For prostitution.” Steve interrupted. “We have the entire thing on video. With audio.” He nodded to Tony. 

Tony had, of course, gotten access to the wall screen, and they all watched as the cop propositioned Natasha, she shot him down, more than once, then he got out of his car and came at her. 

“Gorgeous takedown.” Clint commented. 

Steve glared at him. 

Clint laughed. 

“We have also been made aware, this guy has a history of 'arresting' women and then letting them go again if they give him blow jobs. Unless he's got another explanation, we assume that's what he had in mind this evening with my teammate.” 

“I'm very sorry you were mistaken for a hooker,” the Captain began. 

She slammed her hand down on the table. “I have BEEN a sex worker. I may yet be a sex worker again. THAT IS NOT THE PROBLEM HERE. He tried to arrest a woman peacefully standing on the street, and given the pile of complaints in Internal Affairs, his intention was to scare a blowjob out of me. On behalf of the women of New York and the world, I am here to tell you. This is completely unacceptable.” 

She glared at the cop, who finally seemed to be getting with the program and looked intimidated.

Natasha paced around the table in the silence, her heels ticking on the floor. She'd dropped any semblance of manners and was now, very obviously, the assassin she'd trained to be. “I have murdered heads of state, I have assassinated warlords. I have seduced and slit the throats of human traffickers. I have crawled through sewer lines to sneak into fortified camps and kill terrorists the west couldn't even find.” She paused behind where the cop sat in his chair, eyes white, and leaned forward to speak in his ear. “I was trained from childhood to be a stone cold killer, and because of that, I have a personal policy of killing people who've abused me. In bloody, painful ways that take a very long time. And I enjoy it. I was trained to enjoy it. You are an abuser. You have laid hands on me.” She paused again, looking around the table at where everyone was frozen, staring down the Captain, who was completely horrified. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you. Right here. With my bare hands.” 

“You- you can't do that.” Captain DeSoto stuttered out. 

Natasha paced over to him. Tick tick with the heels. “I am the Black Widow. I've moved in the shadows of the underworld for decades. There is not a cell built that can hold me, and the government is afraid to try. I hold information that can take down nations, including this one, and no one would dare anger me over the life of one piddly, corrupt cop. Now I ask you again. What are you going to do about this disgrace to the uniform?” 

Dead silence. 

“We want a full investigation into the complaints lodged with IA.” Steve filled in, since everyone else seemed hypnotized. Unlike most of the rest, he'd seen her in full assassin mode before and wasn't shocked. “When he is found guilty of committing those crimes, we want him tried in a fair court of law for same.” 

Face grey, Captain DeSoto nodded. 

“Fire him, now. Don't wait until investigations and trials are done. FIRE him, don't let him resign so he can get hired again somewhere else. He's an abuser and should never wear a uniform.” Steve turned to the cop, who was back to angry, but at least now had the sense to shut up. “We'll be watching. You get hired as so much as a security guard, we'll get you fired again.”

“I will be sending you receipts for the shoes you ruined, and my ballet tickets.” Natasha added. “You WILL be paying them.” 

“Are we through here?” Phil asked blandly. 

“If you harm another woman, I will know, and I will come for you.” Natasha assured the cop, who stared at her, eyes full of hate. 

“Right then. If we could?” Phil gestured to the door. 

Steve knew he was trying to get everyone out of there before violence erupted, so they began to file out. Sharon stayed behind, and Steve lingered in the door, half listening, half guarding her exit. 

“I'm Agent Carter. Here's my card. I will be briefing Director Fury on all the events of this evening, within the hour. One way or another, this guy will be in a cell. It will look better for you if you do it yourselves.” 

DeSoto nodded again, still speechless. 

“Bitch.” The cop grumbled. 

Sharon turned smoothly and hit him with a right cross. Steve winced, because it broke his jaw; Sharon knew how to hit. "Also, please remove the police car that's in front of the Tower's executive entrance. Thanks." Steve waited, then quietly closed the door behind them after she exited the room.

-A- 

“JARVIS, edit out the part in the middle where Natasha confesses to a zillion felonies, remove any data identifying the women who filed the IA complaints, then leak it all to the internet.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

-A-

Around midnight, Steve realized no one had ever given the police the keys for the cuffs Sharon and Nat had put on the cop. 

"Do I wanna know what's so funny?" Buck asked. 

"Nope." Steve went back to his drawing. 


	16. Debrief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My contribution to the 'Coulson tries to run a meeting while the Avengers are assholes about it' genre of fics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard there was some concern about whether I was still alive. I am! And still working on End of Ultron. I've gotten to the Apocalyptic Fight Scene At The End and it's slow going; I've got literally twenty characters running around shooting at each other. I HAVE OUTLINED. OUTLINED. 
> 
> So have a short. This is one I was kicking around on Twitter and got a lot of input on, thanks to Muppet, lasrina, amireal, becausechaucer, ilgnome and youse on locked accounts, you're the best enablers ever. (I'm @SamuraiKnitter if you need to find me.)
> 
> Edited June 2 '18 for hopefully added clarity. There are more words, anyway?

There had been an extremely large fire in Queens, large enough that Spiderman called and asked for help. The Avengers were legally search and rescue, so while they could say no, it wouldn't look good for them. “Spidey will keep pulling people out of burning buildings until the fire's out or he's injured too badly to help.” Sam pointed out, arguing for assistance. 

Phil made a quick call to FDNY to make sure they were welcome, and then they took off to help. 

–

“Good Turing, that sucked.” Tony collapsed into a chair at the conference table, coughed into his elbow for a few moments, then desperately drank the smoothie concoction he'd had waiting for him at the landing pad. “Why are we debriefing? There was a fire. We pulled a bunch of people out of it. We helped put it out following the fire department's directions and requests. We were useful and cooperative, we didn't destroy anything. Go us. I want a massage. And then a nap. For three days.” He drank more smoothie. 

“Haven't seen the media then?” Natasha asked. She was covered in soot, her hair was three inches shorter on one side than the other, and part of one sleeve was melted. 

“No. Is that MELTED? Do you know what that takes-” Tony shook his head. “Never mind, I'm going to make you a fire-resistant suit for these occasions, all right?” 

“Thank you.” Natasha said. 

She smiled at Tony, and he found it kind of terrifying, but he smiled back cautiously. 

Everyone else filed in slowly, one or two at a time, moving as if their entire bodies hurt. (They did.) There was coughing, and nose-blowing, ('hey look, snot's black!' 'shut up, Clint.') and a desperate run on cold drinks and ice. 

Steve dropped down beside Tony. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, fine. Suit's got its own sealed environment. I was fresh as a daisy until I flipped up my face mask to talk down a little old lady.” Fucking cats. 

Steve chuckled and pressed a kiss to his temple. So that was something. Tony leaned into it. 

Everyone made gagging noises. 

The door slid open again, and Coulson stalked in. Frowning. 

“Cool, can we get this over with?” Tony complained immediately, because he wanted that nap. Preferably with Steve in his bed. 

Coulson stood at the head of the table, glared at all of them, and hissed between clenched teeth, “Which one of you Justice League wannabees taught Hulk about middle fingers?” 

Everyone winced, because apparently they'd been expecting it. Tony, who'd missed the entire thing because he'd been trying to evacuate a little old lady and her ten cats, burst out laughing, then trailed off into coughs. He took a drink, then choked out “JARVIS? Please. Please, show me photos.” 

On the screen, a picture appeared. Hulk was carrying four children with great care, one on each shoulder and two sitting on one arm. The other arm was extended toward the media, enormous middle finger upright, his teeth bared in a ferocious frown. It was very clear he was trying to protect the children and found the people taking photos a not-smashable annoyance. 

There were weary, cautious smiles. Bruce buried his face in his hands and giggled. Tony was on another cough-laugh jag. “Brucie. I am so proud of you. You and Hulk. You're maturing, and learning to communicate!” 

“Oh god.” Bruce said into his hands, still not showing his face. 

“Justice League. That would make me Bruce Wayne, but with more style and a higher IQ.” Tony mused. “Which makes Steve Superman. Were Batman and Superman knocking boots in the comics? With Lois Lane? Oh oh oh, and Natasha would be Wonder Woman, which is perfect, Clint is of course Green Arrow, which one of you would be Aquaman? Sam, can you talk to fish instead of birds? Thor's from another planet, clearly he's Green Lantern.” 

“Pretty sure that the proper question, Tony, is if Batman and Lois Lane have a threesome going with Superman.” Steve said easily, grinning when most of those around the table choked and started coughing. 

“I wish to hear more of this Justice League.” Thor told them all. “They sound like worthy heroes.” 

Coulson was very obviously grinding his teeth. 

“They're like us, only fictional. And not as good-looking or fun.” Tony explained. “We should do some comics, Steve could do the art, proceeds to cover our asses when we destroy another city block... you game for that?” 

“Sure.” Steve nodded. “Could be fun. I want full creative control.” 

“Well of course, you're the Steve. Who else-” 

“WHICH ONE OF YOU TAUGHT HULK TO SHOOT THE BIRD.” 

“That's impressive.” Tony told Coulson. He knew he was babbling, but he did that when he was exhausted and if no one liked it, they could let him TAKE A DAMN NAP. “I hadn't realized that you have an Army voice. I mean, I knew you were in the Rangers, but-” 

Across the room, Clint started humming. Loudly, because Clint's hearing was wonky and he was never sure how quiet was quiet. Tony didn't know what song it was, but it sounded goofy. It must have been good, though, because Steve stared wide-eyed for a long moment and then heroically cleared his throat to cover a laugh. 

Natasha's head snapped around and she stared a moment, then dope-slapped Clint soundly. “You are meat the next time we spar.” 

“WHAT?” Clint complained. 

“Do you know who deals with this bullshit?” Natasha demanded. “Darcy. Darcy is stuck explaining for the next week how – WHY - we taught a giant green rage monster – no offense, Bruce – to flip off the media.” 

“None taken.” Bruce said easily. 

“He saw me do it!” Clint told them all. "I am an innocent party here!" 

“Hulk gave me a memory of you folding his fingers down and showing him how to use his thumb to hold them.” Bruce informed Clint. “For the record? Don't do that again. He could smash you.” 

“Oh, please, Hulk's like a cranky toddler, you saw him carrying those kids. He's fun.” Clint complained. 

“He's a cranky toddler who could kill you with one hand.” Bruce replied. “Knock it off, I mean it.” 

“Everyone out.” Coulson snarled. They all jumped to their feet, and Coulson barked out, “Barton, put your ass in that chair. Everyone else, OUT. NOW.” 

They got out. 

–

In the common room later, playing a movie with explosions and eating everything they could get delivered (which was a lot in Manhattan), Sam tried, as always, to be emotional support. For all the good it did him. “Seriously, though. Should we go rescue Clint? It could have been one of us that Hulk picked up the gesture from.” 

“It really isn't.” Bruce said into a dish of saag paneer. “He gave Hulk LESSONS. More than once. Stood there joking around with the Hulk. He needs to stop doing that.” 

“Aw, Brucie, I'm telling you, Hulk is fine.” Tony bumped his shoulder to Bruce's. 

“If it's no big deal,” Darcy glared at Tony, “you can field all these e-mails from the world's media.” 

“No.” Steve told her. “You do NOT want him answering those.” 

Darcy growled but didn't argue. 

“Does Clint need rescued?” Sam asked again, trying to bring things around to his point. He did a lot of that. 

“No.” Natasha finished a Klondike bar and opened another, a half-empty box of them open on her lap. Sam wondered if there was a word for essentially chain-smoking ice cream bars. Mainlining? Could you mainline ice cream? “They're fine.” 

“Phil seemed awfully angry.” Sam brooded. “Not that I think they would cause each other harm, of course, but maybe they could take a couple hours, calm down-” 

Natasha inhaled slowly, then let it out. “I have seen dozens of these 'discussions'. Phil will give Clint hell for about fifteen minutes. When Clint feels he's had as much shouting as he deserves for whatever hair-brained stunt he's pulled this time, he will strip until Phil is distracted, then give him a blow job. Do you want to walk in on that?” 

Silence. 

“That's what I thought.” Natasha turned up the movie until it was too loud to talk over, and opened another Klondike bar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Clint is humming is "Oo De Lally" from the Disney Robin Hood movie, with the foxes. He tends to hum or whistle when things get intense and he wants everyone to move on to another topic. I didn't name it in the story because that scene was from Tony's POV and there's no way in hell he'd know what it was. 
> 
> Many Klondike bars were nommed in the writing of this fic.


	17. Therapeutic Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally tells Steve the full story of how he became Iron Man, with no details spared. 
> 
> Steve, understandably, is quite upset. 
> 
> Sam tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write a short about Tony and Natasha's friendship for a while, and a line in ["Targeted Persuasion"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889791) made me laugh for ten minutes so I used it as inspiration and here we are. 
> 
> galwednesday, the author of the piece, is very correct: We need more fics of Future President Rhodes and First Lady Iron Man. Make sure to catch the "bonus head canon" at the end. ("Tony has business cards printed with “First Lady Iron Man” and hands them out to world leaders")

The morning after, Tony didn't get out of bed until ten in the morning and he was rather proud of himself. Maybe he'd be getting back to normal? No more of this breakfast with the Avengers at stupid hours of the morning. (Oh please, who was he kidding. The food was amazing and people brought him coffee.) Except if this was really old times, he'd still be drunk after the night he'd had, if not still drinking. He let himself have one sad sigh for the good old days before he put on a pair of sweat pants and the “Toad Suck State Park” tee shirt that he'd stolen from Steve. 

Coffee. He needed coffee and with luck JARVIS remembered the old protocols and started the machine in the penthouse kitchen when he rolled out of bed. It was strange, he could almost smell it, which was impossible, the kitchen was on the other side of the floor- 

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. 

Tony glared at the door with deep suspicion. 

Last night, Tony had finally huddled down with Steve and told him the entire story of Stark Industries, Iron Man, and how he'd gotten out of the weapons business. It had not gone well. Halfway through, Steve had hugged him, told him to wait just one moment, and disappeared. He came back three minutes later with Sam and half a pack of Barnes' high-test cigarettes, so at least Tony got to be stoned for the second half of the story. Which made the part about Stane ripping the reactor out of his chest a little easier to tell. After, Sam and Steve had tucked him into bed and fed him pizza until Pepper got home from the opera with Natasha. 

He probably owed all of them hugs or better cell phones or something. 

The other side of the bedroom door held- 

Natasha. 

Which was unexpected. He'd figured Steve and Sam were still out there, ready to nurture him some more with hugs and breakfast and kind words. Natasha made a nice change. Tony could relate to Natasha's mother-bird-kicking-baby-out-of-the-nest version of nurturing much better than the soft cuddles the rest of the team went with. She wordlessly held out the mug of coffee she carried, and Tony took it and slugged half of it back. 

It wasn't until he noticed her blinding smile that he realized he'd taken something she'd handed him, and then INGESTED it. 

Well. 

Apparently he trusted Natasha. That woman could get around goddamn GOD if she wanted to. “Morning,” he grunted at her as he brushed past. 

“Good morning,” she said easily and followed him, sitting quietly when Tony flopped into a couch in the living room and finished his coffee. 

“What's going on?” Might as well get to the point. That was one thing Tony REALLY appreciated about Natasha – you never had to play dumb with her, or explain anything. 

“Pepper had a meeting, and Sam wanted to be emotional support for Steve.” Natasha smiled. “None of us wanted to leave you alone, or get into it with anyone else, so you're stuck with me until the guys get back.” 

Tony nodded, wandered off to the kitchen, came back with a refill and the coffee pot. “Okay. Thank you.” Whatever. He drank some more coffee, turned this information over in his mind. “Right.” He nodded some more, squinted out the window a bit. “Where are Steve and Sam, again?” 

“California. Quick trip, Clint's flying them in the QuinnJet. Should be back within the hour, they're over the midwest right now. Missouri, last I heard.” 

Tony shut his eyes and willed the caffeine into his blood stream. He knew this would make sense if he got the data lined up properly. “JARVIS, did Steve have an appointment in California?” He didn't remember anything on anyone's schedule or he might have gone along. He missed the beach more than he'd expected to. 

“No, Sir. It was an impromptu decision by Sergeant Wilson.” JARVIS said smoothly. 

Tony drank more coffee. 

Natasha leafed through one of Pepper's fashion magazines, looked like French Vogue. 

Tony started drinking coffee out of the pot. Fuck it, if Clint could do it, so could he. 

“Jump suits, yes or no?” Natasha asked from behind the magazine. 

Tony gave it some thought. “I feel this is a trick question, since you wear one for work and if I answer negatively I will get the Thighs of Death. The idea is okay, cat suits are AMAZING to look at but not wear, and looser jumpsuits almost never fit right unless they're custom tailored. Is there a correct answer? Am I getting my ass kicked?” 

There might have been a snort. “I'm making conversation.” 

He made an 'uh huh' noise he hoped was neutral-sounding and considered some Jolt cola. Maybe some of the straight caffeine in the main lab. They kept it locked up to keep him out of it, but if anyone could pick a lock it should be Tony Stark. That would require moving, though, so he drank more coffee. 

“Suits on women?” 

Tony stared at the magazine in front of Natasha's face for a long moment. Something was going on. “Yes, please?” 

A definite snort for that one. 

He went and made another pot of coffee. “Another one of those cigarettes is probably out of the question,” he grumbled to himself. 

“Pepper says to tell you,” Natasha began, because of course she'd heard him, “that you can have one recreational drug, any one you want. But she's counting caffeine as recreational.” 

“So I can have weed if I give up coffee.” 

“Yes.” 

“That's absolutely cruel of her.” Tony took the new pot of coffee back to the couch. 

“She's utterly ruthless and can find a leverage point in seconds.” Natasha agreed. 

“I love that about her.” Tony sighed into his coffee. 

“Me too.” Natasha laughed. “Capes?” 

He wished he knew what this fashion Q and A was about. “I can't believe no one else has watched the Incredibles.” 

That got him another laugh; he was doing pretty good this morning, Natasha didn't laugh out loud like this too often. Because she was, he figured however he was getting played wasn't too important. He gave up and drank more coffee. 

Then he finally woke up and facts started fitting together. “What are Steve and Sam doing?” After the night he'd had, he was surprised they'd take off for California unless, “Shit, is there a sea monster eating Los Angeles? I better not be missing a fight with Godzilla.” 

Another laugh, wow. “No, it's fine. They were hoping to be back before you woke up.” 

“What the hell are they doing?” 

Natasha put the magazine down, looking thoughtful. 

Probably letting him see the thoughtfulness, which meant, hell, Tony didn't know. It was Natasha. 

“Steve was really upset last night, after he heard the whole story.” 

“Yeah, figured.” Tony muttered. That was why he never told anyone. People insisted they wanted to know about him, but they got so damn upset when he told them. Was it any wonder he refused to talk about shit? He'd never forget Pepper's tears when he'd told HER about Stane pulling the reactor out of his chest. “I agreed to Sam being here as much for him as for me.” Might as well tell Natasha the truth, she knew it anyway. 

“Well, after the fifth murdered heavy bag, Sam came up with another idea to make Steve feel better. It seems to have worked, at least some, so things should be pretty even-keeled when he gets back.” Natasha picked up her magazine again. “Overalls?” 

Right. That was a distraction. Capes. OVERALLS. “What is Steve doing?” Direct questions were the only way to go with this crowd. Direct questions and not getting distracted. 

“Flying back to New York.” Natasha said smoothly. “I assume that means no to the overalls?” 

“Wear a pair. I dare you.” Tony countered. “What did Steve do in California? What coping method did Sam come up with that required a trip to the other side of the country?” If Natasha was going to this kind of effort to keep him subtly distracted, something was going on. 

“Pepper doesn't know.” Natasha told him. 

“That's nice. That's probably wise. I spent most of my life trying to hide things from Pepper. It won't work, and she'll kick their asses, but it shows they have some sense of self-preservation, that they're trying. It's cute. What the hell did they do?” If he wound up having Legal cover up for Captain America, he was going to NEVER let Steve hear the end of it. 

Natasha tossed the magazine onto the table. “Fine. Steve did not take the news about Stane well. At all. He went out and ran for about three hours in the middle of the night, stopped about six burglaries and a dozen muggings, then came back here and killed heavy bags. Sam found him standing over one trying not to cry.” 

“Fuck.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut. He hated hurting people he cared about. 

“It's not on you.” Natasha said sharply. “You didn't do it.” 

“I told him.” 

“YOU did not hurt him. Quit taking responsibility for things you have no responsibility for.” 

Tony stared down Natasha, let her see the Business Magnate who cut his teeth in international arms dealing. “What. Are Steve and Sam doing.” 

Natasha considered not telling him. He knew she could stonewall him, and she knew it. But she also knew he'd get it out of Steve or Sam. 

“Sam decided Steve needed revenge, so he and Clint took Steve out to California to piss on Stane's grave.” 

“What.” 

Natasha shrugged. “Sam says he's doing better now. I do not pretend to understand how the male mind works, I can only predict it. Sometimes.” 

Tony shut his eyes. Opened them again. “Steve went to pee on Stane's grave.” 

“In his dress uniform.” Natasha added with a small smile. 

“Of course in his dress uniform.” 

Natasha gave a shrug, head tilt sort of thing that said as clearly as words “well, it's Steve”. 

Tony sat with the information for a while, let it circle in his head. Wondered what in hell he was supposed to do about it, if anything. “And Pepper doesn't know.” 

“They were afraid she would stop them.” 

They hadn't completely lost touch with reality, then. 

He nodded a few times. Right. Sam, Clint, AND Steve had flown across the country to desecrate the grave of a guy who'd tried to kill him. 

“Right.” He was still nodding. He stopped. “I need more coffee.” 


	18. Maximoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How ARE Billy and Wanda getting along, then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something nice on a shit day, for all the Sam fans. 
> 
> Takes place AFTER (the as-yet unfinished) End of Ultron chronologically, but contains no spoilers either way.

“So you're a shrink, right?” Billy sat down with a plate of food, heavy on the ice cream and chocolate. 

“Some days.” Sam said as easily as possible, trying to hold his brain still and not project anything. 

The way Billy gave a little grin, Sam suspected he heard THAT, too. Sam worked really hard at not doing the 'ah psychic eee!' response because they said it was tiresome as hell and they didn't want to know what was in people's heads anyway. 

“And you're helping out some of the older X kids in the city.” 

“When they ask for it.” Sam agreed. “Mostly I hang out at a cafe on Wednesday afternoons and people come 'round to say hi, shoot the shit. I'm becoming neutral territory for low-level negotiations among different groups.” Groups that were sorta-kinda-almost maybe high-powered mutant street gangs. So far they were using the networking for good purposes, but he and Xavier were keeping a close eye. It had the potential to become nasty, fast. 

“Huh. At the cafe?” 

“Yeah, the cafe is now neutral territory to all mutants in the city.” Sam had been told after the fact; all the factions, groups, and loners willing to offer an opinion had put it to a vote. 

Billy giggled. “Does the cafe know that?” 

Smart kid. “Not.. really.” Though they had noticed a big uptick in service, and most of the newcomers were unusually polite. 

He giggled some more, settled in and ate. 

Sam remained sprawled out on a hillside of the great lawn of the Xavier School, watching the sun set so that they could have fireworks later. Further down the lawn, an enormous crowd of kids and adults was gathered to watch a supers versus mutants baseball game. Logan was umping and Sam KNEW there was going to be a Steve-Barnes-Logan brawl in another inning, so he was far away from any conflict to be resolved. It was his a day off. 

Steve had surprised everyone by accepting Xavier's invitation to visit for the Fourth of July, then everyone else in the Avengers and their support staff had come along so it could be a combination party for Steve's birthday. When they arrived that morning, Xavier had quietly told Sam that the kids were thrilled that Steve would choose to spend his birthday with them. Sam had passed back that Steve wanted to spend his birthday at the school because it reminded him of why he did his job. 

All the kids had been told that they – the freaks the whole world was afraid of – were reminders to Captain America about why he saved the world. Steve remained unaware because no one could keep secrets like mutants. 

Everyone was in a really good mood. 

Wanda drifted past in one of those long, floaty dresses that made girls look like fairy princesses. “Hi, Billy, Sam.” 

“Hey.” Sam grinned at her. “How've you been?” He patted the ground next to him. 

Wanda took the invitation and settled into one of those knotted-up balls that Sam's sisters insisted were comfortable. “It's a big adjustment. All our lives, Pietro and I were alone. And now.” she smiled around, waved a hand. Then she patted Billy and smiled. 

Billy smiled back. 

“Oh. I'm needed at the ball game.” Wanda smiled, it was the first time Sam had ever seen, and then bounced up and ran off. 

“You and Wanda are close, huh?” Sam asked, making idle conversation more than anything. Neither Billy nor Wanda had any problems Sam knew of, that he was needed for. 

Billy sort of grinned into the distance. “Yeah, we, uh. Sorta know each other.” 

“The magic thing?” he knew the two of them were really closely matched in overall power, though specific abilities varied a lot. 

“Not really.” Billy gave Sam a very intense stare. “If I tell you stuff, is it privileged? Shrink thing?” 

That didn't sound good. “It is if you want it to be. I keep Tony Stark's secrets, I'll keep yours.” 

Tony was open about using Sam as a counselor, and he'd approve wholeheartedly of using the information to help a kid. 

For a while, Billy just nodded and ate ice cream. Then, “know anything about multiverse theory?” 

Sam decided to go with humor on this because REALLY? “You do realize I'm here as a counselor, friend, and guy who flies around.” 

That got a real hoot of laughter. “Well, there are an infinite number of almost-parallel universes. Some vary by a single detail – Tony Stark's eyes are blue instead of brown. Some, that single variation is that the Allies lost World War Two. Or humans never figured out fire.” 

Because life had not been strange enough this year. “Huh.” 

“It's easy to see into them, the closer ones are easier of course. When I was a kid, I looked around a lot more. Never touched anything, but between the lack of control and the pure curiosity, for a while I did a lot of looking around.” 

And sweet baby Jesus, what had this child SEEN? Everything, right? Wars, births, deaths, plagues, disasters. “How old were you?” Sam tried hard to sound chill but he didn't think it worked. 

Billy's shoulders hitched. “Dunno, five, six?” 

Sam knew his face was doing something unprofessional and unhelpful. This poor, sweet kid. Jesus. 

“Anyway.” Billy said hastily. “There are a lot of universes that contain me and Wanda.” 

“Oh.” Like a reincarnational partners thing? 

“In about two-thirds of those universes? Wanda's my mother.” 

“Oh.” Wow. “Huh.” DID ANY SHRINK IN THIS PARTICULAR DAMN UNIVERSE HAVE ANY TRAINING TO HANDLE THIS SITUATION? HMMM? “How's that feel?” Smooth, Sam. Ugh. 

Billy must have picked up on Sam's mental flailing because he had the giggles again. “It's fine. A little weird, but in my life, define weird, you know? Compared to- Well, anyway, there she is, and she seems nice, and there's like a weird click between us. I'm saying 'weird' a lot.” 

“So you hang out together?” 

“Yeah. I'm helping her with English, she's helping me with magic.” 

Sam waited, to see if Billy had more to say. Then, “Compared to?” 

Silence. 

“You started to say 'compared to something else'. Wanna talk about that?” Sam was poking that one a lot harder than he usually would because of all of the surrounding potential disaster of a mom from another dimension turning up. (What was his life. WHAT. DAMMIT STEVE.) 

Billy finished his food, finally, then sat back a little, got comfortable. “I should probably talk to someone about that, and given the choice of you and Xavier, you're probably the better one.” He said it up to the sky, half to himself. 

“Up to you.” But if he didn't talk to Sam, Sam was ratting him out to Xavier. Nothing major, just, you know. Keep an eye out. 

“When I was a kid. My powers came in way early. Looking back, I'm not sure there was a time I didn't have something going on.” 

Not unexpected. “You're used to it?” Sam tried. 

“That's what I'm talking about. The getting used to it.” 

“Ah.” Sam could tell there was something the kid wanted to say, but was either gearing himself up or simply trying to figure out how. He waited. 

At long length, a slow, blown out breath, and softly, “my first exposure to sex was my parents. Couldn't... turn off...” He turned to Sam. “They don't know. I don't want them to know. They're great, they'd freak out and there is no way they could have known it would happen or protect from it.” 

“I won't say anything.” Especially since Billy didn't seem upset by the knowledge he gained, but by the idea of upsetting his parents. Billy was the only kid in the school whose parents were actively involved in his day-to-day life. Most were runaways, in hiding from their parents. 

“Thanks. It was- They were laughing. There's different kinds of sex, right? Serious, playful?” 

“Yeah.” If Billy was that far along in understanding- 

“The knowledge, having it, society says it's supposed to be weird and I need to freak out. But. They were laughing, that's what I remember most. So happy and laughing. That's my first exposure to sex. I should probably thank them. Maybe when we're all older and won't be so, ugh, what's another word for weird.” 

Sam loved this kid. “Tell them now.” 

“You think?” 

“Well, as you know, I don't have any kids. But my momma, she has strong opinions on the subject of parenting and is very free with them, if you get me.” 

From the way Billy laughed, Sam knew their mothers were similar. 

“Adults, we don't know stuff. We make it all up as we go, trying to do the best we can with the information we've got. And parents? They make mistakes. They know they do, all day, every day. And they hope the accidental nature of it lessens any bad effect they might have.” He paused, because Billy looked like he was processing hard, and waited. When he got a nod, he added “to find out an accident had a GOOD result? My momma lives for those.” He leaned in against Billy for a moment, shoulder to shoulder. “Tell your folks.” 

More deep thought, then “You know. If I told them with you around, you could sort of mitigate any disasters. Having a trained counselor-” 

“You little weasel.” It had been an ongoing request for a month now. 

He smiled, a bright and happy normal nine-year-old kid. “It would help!” 

Little did Billy know, he thought it was a good idea. “All right. You talk both your parents AND Logan into a week at Avengers Tower, I will talk the Avengers into it. With certain clauses, like if space aliens attack the city, Kurt teleports you out five seconds ago.” 

“I can teleport myself.” 

“Of course you can. You are getting my point, though.” 

“Yeah. It's a deal!” Billy jumped on Sam and hugged him, and Sam hugged back. 

Hell yeah, if he could make any kid this happy with this little effort, sure as shit he'd do it. 

– 

Hours and hours later, after the fireworks and the kids were off to bed and half the adults were off to their quarters or the guest rooms, Sam tracked down Bruce and offered the scientist a cup of tea. 

“Uh huh.” Bruce said suspiciously, but took it and sipped. 

In a conversational tone, Sam asked “Is it unethical to do a sibling DNA test on two people without telling them? One's a minor and the other isn't, in my shrink's opinion, capable of giving informed consent at this time.” 

Bruce gave Sam a disgusted look, sucked his teeth, and said in an equally conversational tone, “Beyond the pale.” 

“Yeah. That's what I thought. Come on, we need to talk to Xavier. I'll explain on the way.” 


End file.
